your princess in another castle
by Del'Mareve
Summary: Mysterion saves Butters Stotch from certain death one cold, dark night. He is immediately captivated by the blonde-haired boy, but Butters wants nothing to do with love or caped crusaders. [AU. Bunny/Creek!]
1. Intro

**your princess in another castle**

**Summary:** Mysterion saves Butters Stotch from certain death one cold, dark night. He is immediately captivated by the blonde-haired boy, but Butters wants nothing to do with love or caped crusaders.

_author's_ **Note**: This right here is an **M-Rated, AU-ish **Butters/(Mysterion)/Kenny story. As some of you will see, it _is_ M-Rated from the get-go. This story will contain some dark themes, so fair warning! There will also be lots of action/adventure, romance, intrigue and superhero shenanigans, so if you stick around, I really hope you enjoy!

Thanks for reading!

* * *

**Intro.**

* * *

It's dark and hot.

The smell of cheap perfume lingers in the air, faintly tinged with the coppery smell of blood. There were cigarette burns in the fabric of the old couch in the corner, the coffee table is stained and scratched, and the carpet is so thin the bare floorboards can be seen peeking through in spots. The motel room is covered with a hideous gray wallpaper that looked as if it might have been white once upon a time, and the door is so thin and flimsy Mysterion can hear someone's TV blaring three doors down. It was hardly a romantic scene, but this was hardly a _romantic _encounter. Right now, all Mysterion cared about was the sturdiness of the bed.

Wendy moaned against him.

She was completely nude, armored only in a fine sheen of sweat. Mysterion was naked except for his mask and cape. Besides the obvious need to maintain his anonymity, they _liked _it when he kept the mask on, and Mysterion was only too happy to oblige. He pulled Wendy flush against him, smiling wickedly, and lowered his head to take her left nipple in his mouth. He sucked gently while she trembled against him, her hands bunching in the smooth dark fabric of his cape. Mysterion dragged his tongue across the soft mounds of her breasts, kissing and sucking until she was hissing his name in a thin, strangled voice. Wendy hooked a leg around his waist, disentangling her hands from his cape to wrap her arms tightly around his neck. She kissed him hard, her lips moist and slightly swollen, whimpering into his mouth as Mysterion cupped her pert, firm ass and nudged her backward. He tumbled them both onto the bed, his cape spreading over them like a blanket.

"Mysterion…" Wendy whispered, writhing under him as his lips settled hungrily on her throat. Mysterion felt her small hands inching toward the ties that kept his mask in place, but he caught her wrists before she could unlace them and pressed them firmly into the mattress.

"What did I say about the mask, babe?" Mysterion asked, his voice low, rough, "No taking it off. Don't ask, don't even fucking _reach _for it. If I have to tell you again, we're _done_." He used a free hand to trail a fingertip across her collarbone, down one heaving breast and over the taut planes of her toned stomach. When he reached her hipbone he dipped inward, slipping a finger into the hot core of her. She was _dripping _with arousal. Mysterion eased a second finger inside while Wendy buckled helplessly against him, her wrists still pinned.

"Will you be a good girl?" Mysterion murmured as he slipped his fingers in and out, slowly working deeper. "Hmm?"

"Oh..._God...!" _Wendy cried, arching desperately into his touch, which was never quite deep enough, _hard _enough. "Please…!"

"Answer my question." Mysterion withdrew himself from her completely, fingers slick with her juices, watching with a small smile of satisfaction as her pretty face contorted with desire and frustration. "I said, will you be a _good girl_?"

"_Yes_!" Wendy sobbed, her dark eyes shooting fire, "_Yes_, now _fuck me_, you bastard!"

Mysterion laughed richly, using a knee to urge her legs open. Wendy was squirming unabashedly, impatient with need, but Mysterion started off slow, pressing kisses to her stomach. His fingers continued where they'd left off, and this time, he pushed as deep inside her as they could go. He worked urgently, hooking his fingers up to touch an incredibly sensitive part of her anatomy. Wendy gasped, then screamed as he lowered his mouth to nibble on her throbbing clit, dipping in, pulling out, using _both _hands now, faster and faster. Wendy was _pulsing _around him, her nails digging into his scalp, struggling to survive the pleasurable onslaught. Mysterion withdrew once more, his face and fingers smeared with her essence.

"You taste like apples, babe." He murmured, and dove in once more, teeth gently sinking into her clit. He shoved three fingers in, quick and hard, and Wendy came with a shudder, tugging on his hair so roughly she ripped a few strands out.

Wendy was still seeing stars when Mysterion flipped her over, so that she resting on her stomach, her face buried in the musty coverlet. He rested his hands on her hips, urging her ass into the air, and thrust inside with a groan that made something in her belly quiver.

The rest was motion, _frantic _motion, as Mysterion fucked her hard enough to make the bedsprings in the funky mattress squeak. Wendy was shouting, _cursing_, her voice muffled, wildly working her hips back on his dick. She came again, her voice raw with release, and then he did, fisting a hand in her thick black hair as he spilled himself inside her.

It was times like these when Mysterion was glad he wasn't exactly _human_. He didn't have to worry about unplanned pregnancies.

Later, he dressed himself in the cool, inky darkness as Wendy slept. When he had completely donned his superhero costume, he turned back to the bed and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Take care of yourself, babe." Mysterion murmured.

He left his calling card on the night table and slipped out the window, into the night.

* * *

As much as Mysterion enjoyed hot, no-strings-attached sex with his admiring fans, there were lots of other things he liked about being a superhero. Despite_ The South Park Gazette_'s concerted efforts to paint him as a dangerous (and possibly even _insane_) vigilante who needed to be put behind bars, Mysterion did this because he genuinely enjoyed helping people, and wanted to protect the town he called home.

Many folks labored under the assumption that being a superhero was a glamorous, exciting occupation, but that couldn't have been further from the truth. Traipsing around as a caped crusader was hard, risky, _unpleasant _fucking work, and unlike the local police force Mysterion didn't have the luxury of being able to call for backup. His nights were filled with the worst of what society had to offer. Criminals and lost, broken souls who had long since given up on any hope of rescue a long time ago filed his nights in equal measure. He didn't get paid to patrol the streets and hand out tickets, he didn't operate under an umbrella of bureaucracy and red tape. Mysterion went where he willed, and helped those who had fallen so far through the cracks that even the police weren't an option.

He wasn't arrogant enough to think he was doing a better job than the men and women of the South Park PD - but they had _their _place and he had _his_. He liked to think he was making a difference, however small. Every person he saved made the pain, the long, sleepless nights, and every unspeakable,_ fucked-up_ situation he'd ever witnessed worth it. It was a thankless job, mostly, but Mysterion didn't need to be patted on the back. He did this for himself. He did this for his _sister_. He did this for South Park, and for every person who'd ever felt hopeless, powerless and alone. Mysterion knew what it was like to feel that way, and he never wanted _anyone _to have that same experience. He would play guardian angel for half the town, if that was what it took.

So long as there was violence and darkness, he would be there. He was _Mysterion_, protector of the weak, harbinger of good, and mortal enemy to all those who'd seek to harm others.

...And right now, he was _freezing _his fucking _ass _off.

Mysterion sighed, checking his police scanner once again, but all he got was silence, broken by the occasional buzz barely worth listening to. For once, the town was peaceful, held in the grip of an oncoming blizzard. Thick piles of snow had built up along the crenelations of the old City Hall building where Mysterion had perched himself, and more snow was drifting lazily from a sky black and moonless. Mysterion futilely blew into his cupped hands, which were numb in spite of the thick gloves he wore. It was just past three o'clock in the morning, he judged. Mysterion stood up, stretching his aching legs. Being a superhero was ninety percent waiting for something to go down and ten percent action, he had discovered. If he had a _dollar _for every time he'd nearly frozen to death, or gotten soaked to the bone, he could quit his day job.

Habit - or perhaps it was just stubbornness - made Mysterion check the scanner again. When he was greeted with more silence, he yawned, tucked the device away, and decided to call it a night. Tweak Tweek (his _sort-of_ sidekick and trusted adviser) couldn't sleep until Mysterion had made it back to the base safely. It would be good to hit the sack before dawn for once, and the wind was beginning to pick up speed, each gust carrying a definite _bite _to it, stealing every last bit of warmth. _This storm's going to be a bad one. _

Mysterion leapt off the roof of the City Hall building with all the grace and fearlessness of a feline. He navigated the darkened rooftops of South Park's businesses and homes with parkour-like moves, flawlessly executing flips and jumps that could easily have broken every bone in his body with one wrong wrong slip. Hell, he _had _broken every bone in his body before, back when he'd first started doing this. The learning curve had been one steep upward slope, fraught with danger and setbacks. Mysterion had made _plenty _of mistakes.

He always got a chance to try again, though.

Mysterion cleared the span of distance between two buildings, then paused to catch his breath. The sound of voices in the alley below made him tense and turn back, because he _recognized _that sound. It was the same tone his father had once used, when he was in his drunken rages. Mysterion crouched and cautiously peered down into the alley, narrowing his eyes at the darkened figures he saw there. Two men had pinned one small, blonde-haired boy up against a filthy dumpster, while he shivered in obvious fear and distress. From this distance, Mysterion couldn't make out what they were saying, but when one of the men whipped out a pocket knife and held it against the small blonde boy's throat, he flew into action.

Mysterion leaps down with a loud clatter of noise, hoping it would distract them. It did.

The men whirled around, startled. Freed of his tormentors, the blonde-haired boy simply slumped to the ground, too weak to stand. Mysterion rushed the thugs before they could recover from their surprise, taking one out with a furious flurry of blows. One well-placed punch to the face squashed the man's nose like an overripe tomato, then a blow to the sternum, followed by a solid roundhouse had the man on his knees. Another kick to the head and the asshole was out like a light, bleeding into the dirty snow.

Mysterion spun on the next guy, the man with the pocket knife, but this dude was _much _faster than his friend. He lunged forward, shouting obscenities, and buried the blade in Mysterion's shoulder. Mysterion grunted with pain, staggering under the man's weight, and wrestled with the guy a little before throwing him off._ Great, I just fucking dry-cleaned this costume,_ Mysterion thought, yanking the knife out of his shoulder. It came free with a spurt of blood, slicing muscles along the way, and hurt like a _bitch_, but Mysterion was used to that. The man tried to lunge at him again, fists raised, but this time Mysterion was ready for him. He pivoted at the last moment, and used the idiot's own knife to open a weeping gash in his forearm. The dude screamed, staggering, clutching his bleeding limb, and Mysterion quickly buried a foot in his gut, served up with a crushing blow to the temple. Like his friend, the asshole crumbled like a sack of potatoes.

"Now you know how it feels." Mysterion growled, tossing the knife down in disgust.

Breathing hard, Mysterion turned to face the blonde-haired boy. He was huddled by the dumpster, shivering uncontrollably, his eyes huge in his wan, pale face. When the boy saw Mysterion looking he winced, drawing back like a wounded animal, before struggling to his feet.

"Suh-stay away f-from muh-me!" The boy stammered, trembling, "Puh-please, jus'...jus'.._.get the fuck away_!"

"I'm not going to hurt you," Mysterion replied wearily, clutching his bleeding shoulder, "you're safe now, alright? Please, just calm down."

The blonde-haired boy shook his head vehemently, his hair flying. He finally managed to struggle to his feet as Mysterion watched in alarm, and began running away as fast as he could, his sneakers squishing in the snow.

"Wait!" Mysterion shouted at the boy's fleeing back. _Damn it!_

He chased after the blonde boy, down one alley and into another as he fled, careening wildly into the darkness.

"Leave me _alone_! Jus' leave me the_ fuck alone_!" The boy shouted over his shoulder, but in spite of his desperation to get away, it was obvious he wasn't doing too well. He was limping, nearly falling flat on his face more than once. Mysterion caught him easily, snagging the back of his shirt with his good arm.

"I said calm down! I'm not here to hurt you!" Mysterion snarled, feeling more than a little annoyed by the chase. He was bleeding like a stuck pig, and the boy was refusing to listen to him. He began struggling madly, sobbing, kicking and punching Mysterion as hard as he could with his weakened limbs.

"Fuck you!_ Fuck you_! I hate you!" The boy whimpered, his high voice breaking with terror, "Please...puh-please..._don't take me back there_! I jus'...I...I'm beggin' you, _please_!"

"God_damn _it, for the _last_ fucking time, _I'm not here to hurt you! _And I'm not taking you anywhere you don't want to go!" Mysterion shouted, at his wits' end._ So much for calling it a night_. "What are you even _talking _about?"

The boy turned to look at him. Mysterion's breath caught in his throat. The blonde-haired boy had traces of a black eye, and there were bruises on his neck in the shape of hand prints. His clothes were dirty and he was far too thin...but his eyes...his eyes were _beautiful_, a stunning shade of aquamarine shiny with unshed tears. Mysterion had never seen eyes like that, gentle and innocent, yet filled with pain, loss, confusion. His heart clenched in his chest as the boy trembled, the tears in his eyes finally rolling down his cheeks.

"Please don't take me back." The boy whispered, before he slumped in Mysterion's arms and fainted.

Mysterion held the unconscious boy in his arms for a moment, before tenderly scooping him up, forgetting the pain in his wounded shoulder. The boy was so _small_ it was like picking up a wad of damp towels. He was clearly malnourished. Mysterion felt fury blossom in his chest, intense and all-encompassing.

Tweak _hated_ having people he didn't know in the secret base...but his trusty sidekick would just have to make an exception this time.


	2. 1

**1.**

"_Ngh_! If I have to watch you take another _basket case_ under your wing while we have actual work to do, I am...seriously...going to lose it! It's_ too much fucking pressure_, man!"

**~ Tweak Tweek. **

* * *

Mysterion's secret base consisted of the top floors of an abandoned theater in downtown South Park.

It was technically squatting, but his day job was a minimum wage piece of shit and ninety percent of his income went toward paying for Karen's private school. Mysterion didn't mind. The run-down theater wasn't exactly comfortable, but it was home-sweet-home all the same, particularly after all the "improvements" Tweak had made over the years.

Mysterion eased his way into the theater, still cradling the unconscious blonde boy in his arms. Even after all the years of abandonment and neglect, the place still smelled a little like popcorn. Mysterion didn't even _like _popcorn, but he had long come to associate the smell of it with being somewhere _safe_. The elevator to the top floors could only be accessed by punching in a code, which Tweak changed monthly because he was a paranoid little shit. There had been times when he'd forgotten the codes and had no choice but to call Tweak to come down and get him (humiliating, to say the least). On one memorable occasion, Tweak had been _convinced _he was an imposter, and Mysterion had cursed him out for nearly an hour before his partner finally relented.

This time, the code came to him easily, probably because it happened to be Tweak's birthday (_091090)_ and the bastard was trying to tell him something. _Right_. As if Mysterion could afford to get Tweak anything other than a pound of coffee, six-pack of beer and a box of extra, _extra _small condoms just to see the look on his face. Mysterion punched in the code, leaving a little smear of blood on the buttons, and listened impatiently as the elevator groaned to life and then opened its doors with a slow rumble. He stepped inside and waited for the damn thing to take him up the third floor, as the boy in his arms moaned in his sleep. There was a tiny camera in one corner of the elevator, as well as intercom crackling with static. Mysterion knew that somewhere inside the base, Tweak was watching him from that camera and having a mini-meltdown. When Mysterion held up a middle finger the intercom buzzed, the elevator suddenly filling with the sound of Tweak's voice.

"Oh. Oh you did _not_. Please tell me I'm not seeing what I think I'm seeing, man."

Mysterion grinned as the elevator screeched to a halt and the doors slid open with a rusted hiss of sound. The top floor of the abandoned theater had been completely gutted. It resembled a huge studio apartment now, albeit without a functioning kitchen. On one side was Tweak's stuff, and on the other side was his.

Tweak's side was a _mess_. There were computers and electronic equipment everywhere, most of which didn't even _work._ Tweak hardly ever threw anything away, so his portion of their shared space looked as if this was where all the crap they sold when Circuit City went out of business came to die. He had radios and monitors, TVs and VCR players (why Tweak was still hanging on to _that _thing Mysterion had no idea, nobody even made video tapes anymore), walkie-talkies and Bluetooth headsets, laptops and desktops and ancient boxy things that looked like they belonged in a museum. Some of that stuff had been taken apart for their components, but a lot of it just sat in the corner, gathering a fine layer of dust. His partner's bed was a tiny army cot with a thin quilt and a several flattened pillows thrown over it. Mysterion knew from experience that Tweak kept a combat knife hidden under the mattress. Piled around his bed were stacks of old newspapers, bizarre conspiracy-theory themed magazines and new-agey self help books. Coffee mugs lay _everywhere_, some still filled with the strong black brew Tweak drank at least twenty times a day. His partner didn't own very many clothes, but what he did have was stored in a solid chest pushed up against one wall. Tweak had installed cameras all over the theater and built himself a nice little security station, where he could watch everything going on from the comfort of his bathrobe and fuzzy slippers.

His desk was the only thing Tweak bothered to keep neat and organized. It consisted of his personal computer, a picture of his parents in a nice silver frame, and two pristine 9mm handguns.

Tweak was sitting at his desk in his ratty pink bathrobe, glaring at him. Mysterion blew him a kiss, which only made Tweak glare harder.

"Look, man, I thought this was supposed to be a partnership," Tweak said, sounding thoroughly unhappy, "we _agreed_, man! No strangers in the secret base!"

Mysterion sighed, carrying the unconscious boy to his side of the room. It was cleaner, more spacious, with a bigger bed and an armoire full of his day clothes and spare costumes. He had a bookcase, too. It was mostly filled with the filthiest selection of porn you ever did see, but mixed in with X-rated DVDs and scintillating skin-mags were strange books with titles like _The Cult of Cthulhu_ and _Secret Societies_. Mysterion eased the blonde-haired boy down onto his mattress, trying to arrange his gangly limbs as comfortably as he could. The kid was so small and undernourished the bed seemed to _swallow _him, even though he must have been eighteen or nineteen at least. Mysterion gently smoothed back the boy's hair, which had been cut in a strange style that was longer on top and closely shaved everywhere else. The marks of abuse on the boy's skin infuriated Mysterion beyond reason, but he found himself hoping the kid would wake up soon so he could get another glimpse at those _gorgeous _blue-green eyes of his. _Whoa, what I am doing? _Mysterion snatched his hand away and turned to face Tweak, smiling apologetically.

"Tweak, you _know _we're partners. For life, dude," he said, limping his way over to Tweak's desk.

"Hmph. It certainly doesn't _feel _like it," Tweak complained, eying Mysterion critically, "_I'm_ here doing all the research while _you _get to traipse around town fighting bad guys and screwing around! I ask you to do one thing, man, _one thing_, and that's not bring people to the base! It's a _huge _breach of security! _Gah_!"

"Jesus, Tweak, _look _at me!" Mysterion cried, gesturing angrily at his stabbed shoulder, which had thankfully gone a little numb at this point, "You get to sit here in your fucking _pajamas _watching _Ancient Aliens _while I do all the legwork. It's not a fucking _picnic _out there, okay? If I'm not dealing with some trigger happy cop on my ass, then it's some coked-up goon with nothing to lose! Being a superhero doesn't exactly come with health benefits."

Mysterion plopped down in a spare chair, too tired to bother patching himself up. "Fuck, that _hurts_. 'Sides, don't give me that crap about doing all the boring stuff. You _like _doing research."

"True enough," Tweak admitted with a grin, strolling over to inspect Mysterion's shoulder, "I'd much rather be in here than out there. Dealing with those maniacs is _way _too much pressure, man."

"See? You like research, and I like beating up bad guys." Mysterion replied, wincing when Tweak began poking gingerly at his wound. "Screwing around is just my reward for all the bullshit I don't get paid for."

"Nice try, man. We both know you'd still do this even if you weren't getting laid by sexy journalists," Tweak said, waggling his brows, "_whatever_, Kenny. Still doesn't excuse you for breaking the rules. What's up with the kid, anyway?"

Mysterion sighed as Tweak began tending to his stab wound, a little too jerkily to be called tender. Tweak was the only nurse he had available to him, though. He reached up with his free hand and pulled off his mask, and suddenly he wasn't _Mysterion _anymore, South Park's very own caped crusader. His gravelly voice became softer and higher, more playful.

"I don't know." Kenneth 'Kenny' McCormick admitted, trying to hold still while Tweak stitched him up. "He's a runaway, I think. I saved him from some assholes holding a knife to him in an alley."

"And..._what_? You were so busy trying to look cool you forgot that knives are generally used for stabbing things?"

"Shut the fuck up, Tweak."

"I'm just saying, man!" Tweak said, laughing as he tied off the last stitch, "you aren't usually this sloppy."

"Jesus Christ, there were _two _of them. I was _cold_. So he nicked me a little, _you _fucking try this shit wearing nothing but tights and a cape." Kenny replied, grinning in spite of his cranky tone.

They were the perfect partnership. Kenny had met Tweak four years ago, in a chatroom of all places. At some point, Kenny had discovered he could use the internet for more than just looking up dirty videos and typed _Mysterion _into a Google search. The amount of speculation surrounding his alter-ego was _staggering._ There were _fansites _dedicated to him, and pages upon pages of forum threads praising or condemning his vigilantism in the town of South Park. Kenny had been amused - and a little alarmed - to see all the cosplays, the copycats, the people claiming to _be _Mysterion, and the fanfictions (some of which were rather naughty, but Kenny _really _liked those). The police department had even released a two-page statement outlining their no-tolerance stance on what they called _masked hooliganism_. In the middle of all this, one thread in particular had caught his eye. Maybe because it simply reads:_ Help._

_I don't know if Mysterion is real or a hoax. But if you're out there and you're reading this...I could really use your help. _

Four years ago, Tweak Tweek had been desperate and on the run.

"Excuses, excuses..." Tweak says now, interrupting Kenny's thoughts. He stands back to look over his work, frowning. His stitches were pretty crooked, but Kenny wasn't bleeding anymore, so...good job? Yeah, good job. Tweak shrugged and began applying a bandage. "A runaway, huh?"

"Yeah. Just before he passed out he kept begging me not to take him back."

"Back? Back _where_?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Kenny says, as Tweak finally finishes. The bandages, suture kit, and peroxide get popped back into the first aid kit, and Tweak wipes his hands on his robe before he returns to his coffee. It has to be pretty _cold _by now, but Kenny knows Tweak could care less about that. His partner studies him over the rim of his mug as he sips, and Kenny sighs, because he knows exactly what Tweak is going to say.

"You probably already know this..." Tweak begins, but Kenny waves him off before he can finish.

"He's _not _staying here. As soon as he wakes up, I'm dropping him off at the nearest crisis shelter." Kenny replies, his tone firm. Having to say it makes him _angry_, but he can't really blame Tweak for reminding him, either.

"Good," Tweak says softly, "You're a _superhero_, Myst. Not a social worker."

"I fucking _know _that, Tweak!" Kenny snaps, ripping the hood of his cloak furiously down over his long blonde locks. Tweak arches a brow at him.

"Do you?" Tweaks asks, shaking his head. "Look, man...you can help people out of jams, but you can't keep _adopting _them like stray cats. You started this because you said you wanted to make a difference, and yet you spend half your evenings playing big brother. Not everyone can be _saved_, Myst. And you can't keep sticking your neck out for people who don't even want to rescue themselves."

"Says the guy who's never saved anyone in his _life_," Kenny spits back. It's a low blow and he's knows it, but he's tired and frustrated, and Tweak's words are hitting far too close to home. Tweak narrows his big emerald eyes and sets his mug aside, straightening up. Kenny knows he should apologize, but the words stick in his throat.

"What do you think I _do _here all day, man?" Tweak demands, his voice firm and sharp as a razor blade, "Jerk off? 'Cause _besides _that, I'm the only guy dumb enough to watch your back, you arrogant fuck-tard! You wouldn't save _half _as many people as you do if it weren't for me! I do all the research, I fix everything around here and I patch your stupid ass up when you come home full of stab wounds reeking like a brothel! I save you _constantly_, s-so...ARG!"

Tweak throws his hands up and Kenny finds himself trying to slink away. It takes a lot to make Tweak Tweek angry, but Kenny has always _intensely _regretted it every time. Tweak gets a dangerous gleam in his eyes when he's upset, and the ticks he could (mostly) control when he's calm come back full-force.

"_Gah_! You're so fucking _frustrating_! You wanna do this on your own, man,_ do you_?!" Tweak shouted, pulling at his wild, straw-like platinum blonde hair, "_NGH_! Those fucking _orphans _you visit every Saturday, that drug-dealing _bitch _who won't leave her abusive boyfriend, that crazy _slut _who keeps shoplifting at the mall just so you can visit her...the list goes on and on, man! GAH! And while you run around playing _personal Jesus_ to these freaks, you get less done and miss out on someone who actually _needs _your help! You can't keep getting attached to these people, alright?! Where are your goddamn priorities, man, _where_?!"

Tweak actually began pacing the room, twitching and muttering frantically to himself, "_Ngh_! If I have to watch you take another _basket case_ under your wing while we have actual work to do, I am...seriously...going to lose it! It's_ too much fucking pressure_, man!"

Kenny stared at his partner for a moment or two, before he doubled over and began laughing so hard tears sprang to his eyes. Laughter was a bit of a gamble when Tweak was this worked up, but the irony of it all was just too much for Kenny to handle. Tweak was glowering at him, looking as if he wanted to put a _bullet _right between his eyes. Kenny just shook his head and smiled ruefully.

"Says the_ basket case_ I took under my wing four years ago." Kenny replied, his voice gentle, soothing.

"Hmph. I'm the _exception_. I pull my weight!" Tweak grumbled, crossing his skinny arms. "Look, man, if you're going to make jokes -"

"I hear you, Tweak. You're right. I'm sorry," Kenny said, sighing again, "look, I...I'm not making any promises, but I hear you, okay? I'll try. I have a weakness when it comes to stuff like this. I can't _help _wanting to save everyone." Kenny pulls his mask back over his face so that he's _Mysterion _again, smiling sadly.

Tweak bit his lip. "But you can't, man. You really, _really _can't."

"I know, dude." Mysterion mumbled. His voice was gravelly once more. Mysterion glancing toward his bed, where the kid he'd rescued finally seemed to be stirring. Tweak gives him a sorrowful look, but they leave the rest unspoken.

"If you want, I can drive him to the crisis shelter," Tweak said, patting his friend on the back, "you should really get some rest, man."

"No," Mysterion growled, standing up with his cape swirling around him, "I'll do it."

Tweak sighs and follows Mysterion as he hurries to the kid's side. The boy moaned and thrashed a little, as if he were fighting someone in his sleep. When the boy finally opened his eyes, Tweak found himself gazing down into an _unfairly _pretty set of blue-green depths. Tweak liked to think he knew his friend well enough to know all his hang-ups, so he wasn't the least bit surprised Kenny - or Mysterion, whatever he was calling himself - had taken this one home. _Damn it, Ken_.

"Wuh-ah...where…" The boy blinked, his gaze dazed and feverish, "...Craig…?"

Tweak and Mysterion exchanged a glance. Mysterion reached down to lay a gloved palm on the boy's shoulder as he struggled up, rubbing his face with his small bruised hands.

"Relax. You're safe." Mysterion murmured, his voice low and gruff. "What's your name, kid?"

"Name?" The kid repeated slowly, as if the concept was foreign to him. He blinked again and turned his head, his eyes slowly filling with recognition, "Yuh-_you_...you're that fella from the alley…"

"I'm Mysterion," the superhero said, with a nod and a small smile. Tweak rolled his eyes a little. "I rescued you. You don't have to be afraid."

"If it's okay with you, we're going to take you to the nearest shelter," Tweak interrupted, ignoring Mysterion's disappointed frown, "or, y'know, anywhere you'd like to go. My name's Tweak. Mysterion and I are partners." Tweak's skinny chest puffed out a little with pride. "So, uh, c'mon. What's your name, kid?"

The kid stared at them incredulously for a second or two, and then he chuckled darkly, shaking his head. Tweak had never seen someone look so hopeless, and yet there was an incredible amount of stubbornness in the kid's eyes all the same.

"Butters. You can call me _Butters_. I ain't tellin' you weirdos my real name," Butters said, bitterness lacing his tone like poisoned ivy, "you really think you _rescued _me? You really think I was scared of those assholes back there? They weren't really gonna hurt me, 'cause if they did they woulda _died_. I ain't afraid, 'cause nothin' scares me anymore. I jus'..." Butters shivered, and then he pouted, his chin jutting with determination. "I ain't goin' back there. I'm _not_."

"Where?" Mysterion demanded, earning a wary glance from Butters. "Who are you running from? Is it your parents?"

Butters laughed, snorting a little, as if that was the _funniest _thing he'd ever heard.

"How long have I been out?" Butters asked, ignoring Mysterion's question entirely.

"Butters -"

"_How long have I been out_?" Butters snarled, his aquamarine eyes narrowing. "Aw, Jesus _hamburgers_. He could be comin' for me…"

"Ack! _Who_?" Tweak cried, just as a loud buzzing sound filled the room. The spastic blonde nearly jumped right out of his skin. "Oh _God_! Someone tripped the alarm!"

"Tweak, it's probably just a pigeon," Mysterion sighed, as it so often was whenever the alarm went off. Tweak flew over to the security monitors all the same, as Butters scooted off the bed, looking pale and worried.

"OH _GOD_!"

_Shit. _Mysterion joined his partner at the security monitors, his cape fluttering dramatically behind him. He couldn't quite believe what he was seeing at first, and stared at the grainy footage with his eyes wide and his mouth slightly ajar.

"Well, shit."

"_Jesus_, man! What is this?!" Tweak cried, watching as the theater slowly filled with dozens of guys wielding guns. Even with the poor picture quality of the cameras, _anyone _could see these people meant business. One of the men stood out from the rest. He was very tall, dressed in a suit, with a cigarette dangling from his lips and straight black hair that just brushed the nape of his neck. As Mysterion watched, the man turned and seemed to look straight into the camera, with a grim, _expressionless _sort of expression. The man gestured, and the lackeys following him began searching the theater like obedient little puppies, guns held high.

"It's Craig Tucker," Butters whispered beside him, his gaze fixed on the security footage. He was so quiet Mysterion hadn't even realized he was standing there. "He was followin' me this whole time...I _knew _it. I'm so sorry, you fellas. I'm real sorry."

"Who the fuck is Craig Tucker?" Mysterion whirled on Butters and grabbed his arm when he didn't answer, hanging his head. "Butters, what the _fuck _is going on? Who _are _these people?"

Butters winced, trembling. "I…"

"Myst, we really don't have time for this!" Tweak shouted, ripping off his bathrobe and scrambling into his shoes. The alarm had grown louder, a persistent _wha!-wha!-wha!-wha!_ sound. Tweak grabbed a duffel bag and shoved his laptop, some clothes, and the framed picture of his parents inside. He picked up his handguns and tucked one into the waistband of his pajama bottoms, while he cocked and loaded the other. The look Tweak gave him was accusatory. "This is why we don't bring strangers to the base, man! THIS IS WHY!"

Mysterion grit his teeth so hard he felt them creak. He ran over to his side of the room and snatched up a duffel bag for himself, filling it with his spare costumes, his work clothes, his favorite porn (he might need to relieve some stress later) and his phone. Mysterion longingly considered taking his XBox 360, but it was probably better to just leave it.

"How far have they gotten inside?" Mysterion growled, checking his own weapons. Firearms really weren't his style. He was a fast, stealthy, _cunning _fighter who preferred to go hand-to-hand, but he had picked up quite a few deadly tricks along the way. He even carried a 9mm, at Tweak's insistence, though he was nowhere near as good a shot as his partner was.

"Far enough!" Tweak snapped, running for the emergency exit at the very back of the gutted theater. The alarm was practically screaming now,_ WHA!-WHA!-WHA!-WHA!_ The door was chained and padlocked, but Tweak produced a key seemingly from nowhere and the chains slithered to the floor. "Let's go, man!"

"Wait!" Butters said suddenly, grabbing Mysterion's arm. The boy was looking up at his wounded shoulder, biting his lip thoughtfully.

"You're hurt," Butters said softly, reaching up to touch Mysterion's bare skin through the tear in his costume. His touch was light as a feather. "Um...here, let me."

"Wha -" Mysterion began, but all words failed him as tingles began coursing through his body. "_Ngh_!" He hissed, unsure of what was happening. He tried to pull away, but it was as if his mind had been detached from his body, and nothing was working right. The tingles grew and spread, a little uncomfortable at first, reminding Mysterion of that feeling he got whenever his foot fell asleep. Then the tingling became a warm, pleasant sensation, quickly growing in intensity, until every nerve in his body was setting off fireworks in radiant explosions. "_Nggghhh…_" Mysterion groaned, as the feeling swelled, became _sizzling_, and then suddenly it was gone and it was as if he'd been spat out of a furnace and _slammed_ back into his body. He actually sagged a little, shaking.

"What the fuck...was that." Mysterion said using Kenny's voice, too shocked to actually frame that statement as a question. Butters was cradling his hand to his chest, looking extremely confused.

"I...it's usually not like that." Butters muttered, with a jerky shake of his head. "I…"

Mysterion reached up and touched his shoulder, realizing it no longer hurt. He tore away the gauze Tweak had placed there, and was greeted with the sight of smooth, pink, unblemished skin.

"Holy fuck," Tweak muttered, his eyes wide. He stared at Butters, opened and closed his mouth a few times, but he couldn't seem to think of anything other than, "...holy _fuck_."

"Who _are _you?" Mysterion asked, feeling as if he'd just been ripped away from what could possibly have been the most _intense _orgasm of his life. His voice was even rougher than usual. Butters flushed and bit his lip again, finally meeting Mysterion's dark blue eyes.

"Maybe if we survive this, I'll tell ya." Butters replied, shrugging.

"Sounds like a plan!" Tweak said, grinning. "_Let's go_, ladies!"

* * *

"He's in here somewhere. Find him, but don't hurt him," Craig Tucker instructed, exhaling smoke. He dropped his cigarette down on the dusty floor of the abandoned theater and crushed it under his heel.

"If you find anyone else...kill them."


	3. 2

**2.**

"You're right, Tweak. It's all my fault. Clearly, I need to be punished. When we get to Bebe's house, you can bend me over your knee and spank me until my ass is red and chapped."

**~ Mysterion. **

* * *

Mysterion had always wondered why they didn't just use the emergency stairwell for all their comings and goings.

If he had to chose between dealing with Tweak's bullshit security codes or taking the stairs, Mysterion would happily have chosen the stairs. When he brought this up to his partner, however, Tweak just huffed and said, "Emergency exits are for _emergencies only,_ man!" According to him, they needed to have a way to get out of the secret base quickly and easily, just in case the underpants gnomes came seeking revenge or the government dispatched specially trained CIA assassins or aliens decided to conquer the entirety of the human race. Mysterion had always thought Tweak's extra precautions were stupid and unnecessary, but he had learned a long time ago that there was just no arguing with the guy's paranoia. As he raced down the stairs with Tweak ahead of him and Butters trailing behind, the sound of the alarm wailing urgently in his ears, Mysterion couldn't help feeling grateful his partner was such a spastic, paranoid little shit. Emergency exits were indeed for emergencies only.

The stairwell was steep and dark, but Tweak navigated the steps with surprising grace for a guy who couldn't be bothered to button up his shirts properly. When they reached the bottom, Tweak held his gun up and peeked through the little hole he had drilled through the door, back when they'd first gotten set up here. Mysterion knew that door opened out on the parking lot behind the abandoned theater, surrounded by a chain-link fence and overgrown with weeds. The Mysterion-mobile/Kenny's shitty Toyota Prius was parked back there, hidden under a tarp. It should have been an easy escape, but when Tweak froze with a sudden gasp, Mysterion realized they had a problem.

"_Jesus_, man! They're in the parking lot too?!"

Mysterion nudged his friend aside to take a look for himself. About four or five dudes packing obvious heat were patrolling the grounds outside. It was pretty clear from their alert, serious expressions that they'd been told to wait here and keep an eye out for trouble. Tweak grabbed Mysterion's shoulder, shaking him frantically.

"They're going through your _car_, man! Did you see?!"

Mysterion saw. Two of the guys had ripped the tarp off his baby and were shining flashlights inside, while a third seemed to be trying to jimmy open the door. Mysterion bit the inside of his cheek thoughtfully as Tweak twitched and fidgeted at his side, looking absolutely ridiculous in his Power Rangers pajama bottoms and dirty sneakers. Tweak had been in such a rush he'd forgotten to put on a shirt, and his thin torso was covered with old scars. The 9mm he'd tucked into his waistband made for a stark comparison against his milky skin.

"That's Craig for you," Butters mumbled, shaking his head, "He never forgets to cover his ass. H-he probably has suh-some guys posted in the front, too."

"What are we going to do, man?!" Tweak hissed. "We can't go back the other way, those assholes will tear us apart! This is our only way out!"

"We're going to have to fight our way through the parking lot, then." Mysterion announced calmly.

"What?!"

"Look," Mysterion said, his voice a low growl, "I'll create a diversion. When the coast is clear, you and Butters make a break for the car."

"_No fucking way_, man!" Tweak snapped, his voice strong in spite of its high, panicky quality, "I'm not leaving you behind! There are dozens of guys out there, _ngh_, you'll be _killed, _man!"

"Tweak. You know that doesn't matter," Mysterion snapped back, quickly becoming annoyed with his friend's stubbornness. "Just do what I say!"

"Wuh-wha? How can it not matter?" Butters piped up suddenly from behind him, eliciting a groan from Mysterion. In the dimness of the stairwell the boy looked small and vulnerable, even more vulnerable than Tweak in his pajama bottoms. Butters was confused and upset, his amazing aquamarine eyes shiny.

"You'll _die_, ya idiot!" Butters cried, glaring at Mysterion, "Don'tcha _care _at all?!"

Mysterion opened his mouth to reply, but before he could get so much as a word out, Tweak was shouting at him.

"GAH! _Fuck you_, you dumb prick! I'm not waiting God-knows-how-long for you to come back just because you want to play a hero!" Tweak brandished his gun at him in a way that made Mysterion take a nervous step back, his eyes wide. Tweak was shaking, shifting from foot to foot, so full of nervous _energy _he looked like he was going to explode. The dangerous gleam was back in his big green eyes, though, a subtle expression of Tweak's inner strength.

For all his faults, Tweak Tweek was _not _a guy to take lightly.

"Listen up," Tweak said, thumbing back the safety on his pistol, "we're doing this _together_, man! Like fucking _partners_. You do your thing and I'll watch your back, alright?! When the coast is clear, we're _all _breaking for the car! OKAY?!"

"Okay," Mysterion replied, grinning ruefully. "Butters, I want you to keep your head down. Think you can handle that?"

"Wuh-uh, I think I can handle not catchin' a _bullet _to the face! I'm not gonna run out wavin' my arms around!" Butters shot back, adorably sarcastic. Mysterion grinned harder.

"Jus' one thing," Butters added suddenly, knocking his knuckles together, "If we run into Craig...um, _please_, don't hurt him."

"_What_? Are you _serious _right now, kid?" Tweak demanded, peering skeptically down at the blonde-haired boy, "Isn't this the guy trying to _kill _you?!"

"He's not tryin' to kill _me_, but he'll kill _you _if you give him half a chance," Butters replied, a little testily. Tweak spasmed and clutched his pistol tighter, grinning almost maniacally.

"I'd like to see him fucking _try _it!" Tweak muttered darkly, shaking his head so vehemently his wild platinum-blonde hair flew in all directions.

"Look, Craig ain't doin' this on his own, he's jus' followin' orders!" Butters insisted. "He's the head of security for...u-uh..." Butters flushed, knocking his knuckles together even harder. "...the head of security. An' I owe him a favor, so jus' don't hurt him!"

"The head of security for a shadowy organization, is that it?" Mysterion murmured, reaching into the folds of his cape for his weapons. The superhero pinned Butters with a stern glance, waiting for him to answer. When the kid blushed and looked down in sullen silence, Mysterion cupped his chin and firmly tilted his head back up. He wanted Butters to _look _at him, damn it, and Mysterion was getting sick and tired of all his evasions. Butters trembled a little, his full lips jutting in a stubborn pout. The boy looked _ridiculously _kissable when he did that, Mysterion thought idly. Mysterion's gloved hand all but swallowed his chin, but the superhero's grip was gentle and the look in Butters's eyes was _wary _rather than afraid.

"You keep getting more and more interesting." Mysterion commented, his gaze intense enough to burn a hole in Butters's head, as if he could learn all his secrets if he stared hard enough. "Listen to me. Whether you meant for this to happen or not, we're sticking our _necks _out for you. I'm a superhero. Helping people is what I do, and I'd like to help _you_, but until you start answering some of our questions Tweak and I are under no obligations to do you any favors. So if this Craig Tucker gets in our way, he's _dead_." Mysterion smiled, and then added playfully, "Understand, Buttercup?"

Butters's breath hitched in his throat, before he furiously tore himself out of Mysterion's grasp.

"C-condescending _ass_." Butters muttered, wrapping his arms protectively around himself.

"Them's the breaks, kiddo." Tweak said, looking around nervously. "So, uh, are we doing this?! I rigged the elevator to blow if someone punched in the wrong code too many times, _nngh_! We gotta get outta here, man! All this standing around is too much fucking pressure!"

"Yeah," Mysterion replied, throwing one last glance over his shoulder at Butters, "let's do it, dude."

Two smoke bombs were in his hand. He lit them and kicked open the door to the parking lot in one smooth, fluid motion. Craig Tucker's cronies jumped at the sudden noise, raising their guns. Mysterion tossed the bombs, and had just enough time to observe the men's startled expressions and mark their positions in his head before the bombs exploded, filling the parking lot with thick, dark green smoke. Before the goons could react and start shooting indiscriminately, Mysterion surged forward, lithe and graceful as a dancer. The world had become an ocean of smoke, and Mysterion was a _shark_, while his prey bobbed around like blind, dumb fish.

His first victim didn't see him coming, but that was sort of the point. Mysterion flew at him, executing a _flawless _jump-kick that knocked the man out in one blow. With his momentum still behind him, Mysterion whirled on the next guy, two razor-sharp ninja stars in his hand. He flung one and it sailed through the smoky air like a deadly frisbee, tumbling end over end until it lodged in the finger bones of his chosen opponent with a sickening _crunch! _The man screamed and dropped his gun, cradling his bloody hand. Two of the mystery men turned at the sound of their comrade's screams, cursing. One of the guys spotted Mysterion crouched low amidst the drifting green smoke and began firing his gun wildly. Mysterion flipped, his cape swirling, and the bullets hit nothing but air. He threw his second ninja star and the man blasting away let out one short, sharp scream as the points of Mysterion's weapon buried themselves in his eye, splattering blood like raindrops. Before he could scream again, Mysterion knocked him out with a brutal uppercut, and turned to taser his friend into unconsciousness before the guy could recover from his surprise.

That was four down. Mysterion reached into his belt pouch for more ninja stars, but the smoke from the bombs was already starting to dissipate. Mysterion grit his teeth, his taser vibrating in his hand. Without cover he was a much easier, more vulnerable target, and there were at least four more guys to take out. _Damn_!

Mysterion threw another ninja star at the groin of his next target, and watched as the man crumpled into a sobbing heap._ Just three more._ But suddenly the smoke was gone, carried away by an icy wind, and Mysterion found himself standing in the middle of a battlefield with nowhere to hide.

He had forgotten about the storm. Snow fell from a sky the color of stainless steel at a steady pace, and little piles of the stuff had already begun to form around the parking lot, which was now littered with bodies and bullet casings. The three men who'd been trying to break into his car now leveled their guns at him, wearing identical grim expressions of hate. Mysterion tensed, waiting for the inevitable white-hot pain of bullets tearing through his body.

"MYST!" Tweak screamed, before he aimed his 9mm and fired.

_Bang! _Tweak's first shot took a guy right in the chest. He reeled, grimacing, and collapsed in the snow.

_Bang!_ Tweak's second shot hit a dude right between the eyes. Mysterion watched, a little sickened, as bone and brain matter puffed out like chalk clapped from two erasers, spattering all over the roof of his Prius._ Fuck, I'm going to need one hell of a car wash. _

_Bang!_ Tweak's third and final shot took the last man in the back of the knee. Mysterion knew his partner could have killed him just as easily as he had the other two, but he had decided to be merciful because the fool was running away. The guy stumbled and fell face-first, screaming, "DON'T KILL ME! PLEASE!"

The poor guy didn't know Tweak had already spared his life. There had been a time when Tweak might have _vomited _at the thought of killing someone. All that had changed the day his parents were brutally murdered right in front of him.

The coast was clear and everything was silent, save for the agonized groans of the men still alive. Mysterion let out a breath and stowed away his taser, as Tweak sprinted forward, holding a very pale, very _sick_-looking Butters by the hand.

"Let's go let's go let's _go_!" Tweak shrieked, and for once Mysterion couldn't have agreed more.

"I'm driving," he said brusquely, snatching his car keys out of his belt pouch. Tweak was a _horrendous _driver. The Prius chirped once as he unlocked it, and Tweak climbed into the passenger seat while Butters slid in the back.

"Butters. Are you okay?" Mysterion demanded. He didn't like the feverish gleam in the blonde-haired boy's aquamarine eyes, or the pallor of his skin. Butters swallowed and nodded.

" 'm fine, jus' get me outta here." Butters replied, sounding shaken. Mysterion bit his lip and nodded, then started the car, revving up to warm the cold engine -

"OH _JEEZE_!" Tweak screamed.

Mysterion turned his head just as someone shot out the driver's side window. Glass flew everywhere, sparkling like diamonds, peppering his face with tiny little cuts.

"_Fuck_!" Mysterion snarled. "My fucking _window_!"

Mysterion looked out through the shattered remains of glass, trying to catch a glimpse of the asshole who was responsible for the uncomfortable call he was going to have to make to his insurance company. And there he was, Mister Tall, Dark and Scowly himself, Craig Tucker, with a dozen or more guys behind him. Mysterion didn't like the cold expression on his face, but he liked the Desert Eagle he was holding even less.

Without warning, fast as a viper striking, Tweak pulled his gun and fired right back. Tweak's bullet hit Craig square in the chest, but the raven-haired man just kind of stumbled backward with barely a grimace of pain.

"Oh my God!" Tweak screamed again, so loud it hurt Mysterion's ears. "H-he's a fucking _CYBORG_, man! GAH!"

"Craig's not a c-cyborg, he's wearin' a bulletproof vest! He always does!" Butters shouted, cringing in the back seat.

"Bulletproof vest?! That's _hacks_, man! No fucking hacks!" Tweak growled, aiming again. Mysterion slammed on the accelerator before his partner could take another shot, and his Prius flew out of the parking lot and through the gate with a squeal of tires as gunfire opened all around them.

"Hang on!" Mysterion ordered, driving hard and fast past the abandoned theater, out onto South Park's cold, dark streets. The snow had made the roads wet and hazardous. Mysterion desperately hoped they wouldn't end up at the bottom of an embankment somewhere. After a moment he checked his rearview mirror, wondering if they'd managed to escape. So far, so good.

"Jesus _Christ_," Tweak muttered, shivering violently with the freezing air blowing in through the ruined window, "did we make it, man? _Did _we?"

Mysterion was doing almost sixty miles an hour in a snowstorm, but he wasn't about to slow down just yet. He checked his rearview mirror again. Just like the first time, there was nothing to be seen. Mysterion started to relax, grinning a little.

"Looks like we lost -"

"Look _out_!" Butters screamed, cutting Mysterion off.

A black Dodge Charger roared down a side street, its engine growling like an angry demon, and pulled up next to them. Mysterion jerked the steering wheel hard, and for a terrifying second he thought the car was going to flip. When he glanced over he caught a glimpse of ice-blue eyes and dark hair.

"_Jesus_, man! He's like the fucking _Terminator_!" Tweak cried, trying to steady himself. The spastic blonde had neglected to put on a seatbelt and was sliding all over the passenger side as Mysterion weaved dangerously through the streets with the Charger in hot pursuit. Tweak's pajama pants had slipped down a little, revealing the crack of his skinny ass.

"No way, man, _no way_! How did he even know how to find us?!" Tweak continued, rapidly shaking his head, as if the power of his denial could transport him to a land of sunshine and puppies, "We got away! We fucking _ghosted_ them, man! THIS IS _BULLSHIT_!"

"D'ya _ever _stop screamin'?!" Butters asked, sounding as fed-up as Mysterion felt.

"WHO'S SCREAMING? I'M NOT FUCKING SCREAMING, MAN! GNAHHH!"

"He found us 'cause I have a trackin' device implanted in m-my back, is all," Butters said, sounding _ludicrously _calm about the whole thing.

"_What_?!" Mysterion and Tweak yelled in unison.

"You reckon ya wanna _lose _'im?" Butters demanded, turning around to look out the back window. "He's gainin' on us!"

"I'm _trying_!"

Boy, was he ever. But the Mysterion-mobile was a 2002 Prius that badly needed an oil change, while Craig was driving a brand new Dodge Charger with four hundred horses under the hood. Mysterion just couldn't shake him. And Craig was closing in _fast_.

"Tweak, can you shoot out that asshole's tires?" Mysterion growled, narrowly avoiding a collision as he weaved recklessly through an intersection. Cars swerved and horns blared angrily, creating a cacophony of sound that set Mysterion's teeth on edge. South Park may have been a redneck mountain town with not much to speak of, but one thing it did have was an _extremely _enthusiastic police force. If they kept up this high-speed chase for much longer, they would either end up with the cops on their asses or engulfed in a fiery wreck. Mysterion honestly didn't know which was worse.

"Umm…" Tweak said, sticking his head out the window. Craig chose that exact moment to _ram _them, and Tweak was thrown back in his seat, squealing fearfully.

"Err...no." Tweak replied timidly.

"Jus' pull over!" Butters said suddenly, trembling. "Craig's not gonna give up until he has me back in custody. I don't wanna see you fellas gettin' killed on account of me. Jus' pull over a-and Craig'll let you go!"

"No way, _no fucking way_! He'll probably kill us the _second _we step out of the car!" Tweak cried, spasming badly. "Craig'll put a bullet in our heads and throw our bodies in Stark's Pond, then take you whether you want him to or not, won't he?_ Won't he_?!"

Butters flushed and looked down guiltily. He didn't answer, but the expression on his face spoke volumes.

"Puh-please…" Butters whispered, "I-I'm...not worth it. Jus' push me outta the car and drive away…"

"No." Mysterion replied flatly.

"Buh-but -!"

"We're getting you out of this, Butters. I promise." Mysterion said, glancing back at the blonde-haired boy. He couldn't help but notice how Butters's aquamarine eyes filled with grateful tears, but the kid just bit his lip and shook his head.

"D-don't make promises if you can't keep 'em." Butters muttered miserably.

Craig Tucker rammed them again. The Prius jerked so hard Mysterion's head hit the steering wheel, and there was a solid _crunching _sound as the Dodge's big grille destroyed the back bumper.

"_Goddamn_ it!" Mysterion shouted, so angry he used Kenny's voice.

"Slow down!" Tweak said suddenly.

"What?!"

"Let him pull up on the side of us, man!" Tweak gestured with his 9mm, grinning a slightly off-kilter grin. "Just when he thinks we're about to give up, _boom_! Headshot!"

"Ain't there a-any other way?" Butters asked quietly, looking so pale and feverish Mysterion wasn't sure how he was even still conscious.

"Look, kid, you wanna be _noble _or you wanna be _alive_?!" Tweak demanded. There was an edge in his voice that made Butters flinch and rub his knuckles. " 'Cause take it from me_, you can't do fucking do both_!"

_Tweak_, Mysterion thought, overcome by a sudden feeling of sadness, _I'm so sorry, dude. I'm so sorry you couldn't save them. _

Craig had apparently decided to stop playing around (not that Mysterion thought this had all been for funsies), because he rammed them once more, sending the Prius into a fishtail. The dark-haired man seemed to be trying to edge them off the road, where they would stall out in the snow and gravel. Mysterion managed to straighten the car, white-knuckling the thing with a cold sweat on his brow, but that had been _entirely _too close and they were rapidly approaching South Park's downtown business district, where traffic would be heavier and a crash would be nearly unavoidable.

"Hng, just _do _it, man!" Tweak shouted.

"Fuck! Alright," Mysterion said, easing his foot off the gas, "you better make this shot count, Tweak!"

"Jesus man, don't I always?" Tweak snapped. Mysterion could see Butters trembling in the back seat from the rearview mirror, his large, utterly gorgeous blue-green eyes silently pleading for him not to do this, but it was either kill or be killed and Mysterion had no other choice._ I'm sorry, Butters._ Mysterion dropped his speed, letting the Charger get closer and closer, watching as Tweak lined his sights. But then Craig Tucker suddenly drew his Desert Eagle, faster than Mysterion would have believed possible. It was as if the world had slipped into slow motion. He had no idea who would shoot first.

_Whaaaa-ooooo...wha-oo-wha-oo-wha-oo…! _A cop car appeared seemingly out of nowhere and joined the chase, sirens flashing. Mysterion groaned.

"Fuck, it's the _cops_," he muttered. This night just kept getting better and better.

"Whoa, he's taking off!" Tweak said, sounding exuberant. "I guess the pigs are good for something in this town after all, man!"

Mysterion was so focused on the cops he didn't know what Tweak was babbling about at first. But when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that Craig had busted a U-turn at the sight of the flashing lights and wailing siren and was busy hauling ass in the other direction. The muscle car hit the corner, whipped left and disappeared, leaving behind only the black and white cruiser with the words _South Park Police Department _boldly emblazoned on the side.

"He m-must not have wanted to tangle with the cops," Butters said, relief evident in his voice. "...good old b-boring Craig."

"Yeah, but now _we _have to tangle with them." Mysterion replied, eyeing the car. There was only one, and he thought it looked familiar…

"_Pull over in the name of the law, dudes!"_ A laid-back, nasally voice called over a bullhorn. Mysterion groaned again.

"It's Clyde!" Tweak said, clapping his hands like an excited three-year-old. As long as Mysterion had known the guy, he didn't think he'd ever get used to how Tweak could be a ruthless pragmatist one second and a complete child the next.

"I haven't seen Clyde in forever! Can we stop, man, can we?!"

"No."

"Why noooooot?"

"I'm not stopping the car so you can talk to Clyde."

"But it's _Clyde_!"

"I don't give a fuck."

"Just_ five minutes_, man!"

"_No_!"

"Nghawww…" Tweak huffed, crossing his arms. That seemed to be the end of it, but when Mysterion turned his attention back to the road, Tweak stuck his head out the window and waved madly. "Clyde! Hi Clyyyde!"

"_Tweak? Jesus Christ on a taco, is that you, dude?"_

"Tweak, get your ass back in the fucking _car_!" Mysterion ordered, infuriated. Clyde was showing no signs of giving up the pursuit, but he wasn't calling for back-up either. Mysterion rolled his eyes and slammed hard on the brakes. "Fuck it, I'm pulling over."

"Yay!" Tweak said, grinning, but when he saw the expression on the superhero's face he blanched. "Oh jeeze, man! Don't _hurt _him!"

* * *

The department had stuck him the _shittiest _of shitty graveyard shifts.

Clyde suspected it was because he had fucked up on the narcotics beat, but seriously, how was he supposed to know that totally innocent-looking bag of flour had actually been cocaine? It was an honest mistake, okay? _Anyone _could have made it! And okay, _okay_, maybe it hadn't helped that he'd destroyed half a city block, punched out an old woman, gotten robbed by a prostitute and nearly set the station on fire trying to warm up his day-old crunchy wrap all in the first _month_, but those were _accidents_. _Gawd_. It was like nobody knew the meaning of the words "I'm sorry, dude!" anymore.

Clyde was new to the whole police officer thing, but he was eager to learn and nobody seemed to want to give him a chance. Admittedly, him becoming a police officer had been a huge surprise to all his friends and family. Clyde knew everyone had expected him to turn into a jobless, mooching couch-surfer after high school, and, well...he couldn't blame them for that. Clyde had always been directionless, unmotivated and more than a little lazy, but that didn't mean he didn't have, like, goals and stuff! He had always wanted to be a police officer. It totally wasn't because he'd been obsessed with movies like _Beverly Hills Cop_, _Lethal Weapon_ and _Rush Hour_ as a kid. Clyde happened to think helping people and catching bad guys was a totally cool, totally noble calling.

Clyde wanted to make _Detective _one day.

But he had fucked up one too many times already, and Police Chief Token Black had given him the _worst _shift on one of the _worst _beats far from anyone or anything as punishment. Clyde couldn't really complain. Token could have stuck him directing traffic or doing security jobs at the mall. It was nice and quiet working this late at night, if really boring and a little lonely. Clyde just wished the boys back at the station would give him a chance to _prove _himself, to show that he could be an _awesome _police officer, but it didn't look like that was going to happen any time soon.

Clyde spent most of his shift hanging out in the parking lot of the local Starbucks. He used to hang out at Tweek Bros. Coffee, which was much tastier than the commercialized bullshit they sold at Starbucks, but the coffee shop had burned down almost four years ago in a horrific accident that had claimed the lives of Richard Tweek and his lovely wife. The incident had been all over the news. Back then, there had been all sorts of whispers about foul play and other chilling rumors, but nothing ever came of the investigation, and Richard and Mrs. Tweek's deaths were officially declared accidents. Clyde had been close friends with their son all during high school, but after that incident, Tweak Tweek disappeared. Some people said he'd been sent to a psychiatric hospital, while others claimed that Tweak himself had been responsible for his parent's deaths, and had skipped town to avoid justice. Clyde didn't know _what _to believe.

All he knew was the last time he'd seen his friend had been as Tweak was being loaded into the back of an ambulance, with bloody hands and a burned torso.

Clyde sipped his caramel macchiato, tiredly listening to the buzzing silence over the police scanner. It was four o'clock in the morning, his shift was almost over, and he was desperately looking forward to the weekend. Maybe he'd go visit his Dad, or stop by his sister's dorm and bug her…

A crappy silver Prius suddenly blew by, closely followed by a mean-looking Dodge Charger. They were both doing_ at least_ eighty miles an hour on a street where the speed limit was only 35.

"Holy shit!" Clyde shouted, spilling his drink in his lap. "_Fuck_!"

Hot milk and sticky caramel sauce soaked into his uniform, scalding him. Clyde ignored the pain, started his cruiser and sped out into the night. Clyde briefly considered calling in a high-speed chase and requesting for back-up, but if he managed to catch these reckless assholes all on his own, surely Chief Token would have to see he was capable of handling himself, right? _Right_! Clyde grinned. He was going to be_ so popular_ at the next Policeman's Ball!

"Ah, shit, I forgot to turn on the siren!" Clyde did that now, filling the otherwise quiet neighborhood with sound and flashing lights, right on the tails of the speeding vehicles. "Pull over, dudes!"

The driver of the Dodge Charger slammed on his brakes without warning, executing an impressive U-turn and immediately fleeing from the scene. Clyde just barely caught a glimpse of a very pissed-looking man with dark hair. _Crap on a taco. _Clyde couldn't turn around, not without giving up the chase on the Prius, and the man driving the Charger was already halfway down the street.

Clyde rolled down his window and shouted after him, "Yeah, you _better _run, you pussy!"

He turned and focused his attention on the Prius, still doing breakneck speeds. Clyde picked up the bullhorn. Damn, he loved that thing.

"Pull over in the name of the law, dudes!"

For a moment it looked as if the driver of the Prius was just going to keep going. Clyde was cool with that (he'd been _dying _to use some spike strips!) but a skinny young man with a scarred chest suddenly stuck his head out of the passenger side window and _waved_ at him, a gun in his hand. Clyde frowned, bewildered, before his hazel eyes widened in shock.

That wild platinum-blonde hair, those big green eyes, his morose, horsey face…

_Tweak_?

"Tweak?" Clyde shouted over the bullhorn, "Jesus Christ on a taco, is that _you_, dude?"

The skinny wild-haired man grinned at him and stuck his head back inside the car as the Prius slowed down and pulled to a quick stop on the side of the road. Clyde pulled up behind it, warily observing the smashed bumper, and climbed out with his service revolver in his hand. That guy had looked an _awful _lot like Tweak, but...no, it couldn't be…

"Okay, so like, step out of the car and put your hands up dudes!" Clyde ordered, gun raised.

Two men slowly got out.

"Holy shit…" Clyde said for the second time that night, so shocked he lowered his revolver a little, "It _is_ you, dude! And you...you're..._Mysterion_! Holy _crap_-baskets!"

Mysterion had been a pain in the police department's side for a very long time. Officially, they couldn't condone anything he did, and Chief Token had made it his personal mission to see the guy arrested and thrown into the deepest, darkest padlocked cell he could find. Mysterion was a crazed vigilante who had taken it upon himself to protect this small, redneck mountain town for reasons known only to him, but Token Black didn't stand for Mysterion's brand of ruthless justice. Chief Token was a level-headed man of the law, a man who believed in rules and following them to the letter. Mysterion was a chaotic force for good, and he followed no rules but his own. Clyde personally thought the guy was _cool as fuck_, but there were lots of other officers who thought differently.

So many cops had tried to catch him before...Clyde oogled the masked and cowled superhero with his mouth hanging open, his hazel eyes so big they threatened to swallow his face. Mysterion just glared at him, his eyes the brilliant, sparkling dark blue of tanzanite gemstones.

If Clyde managed to arrest him, Token wouldn't just promote him to Detective. Clyde was pretty sure the guy would have to suck his _dick_, too.

"Long time no see, man," the skinny platinum-haired young man murmured, "I always knew you liked bacon, but I never thought you go full pig."

Clyde tore his gaze away from Mysterion and looked the man up and down, disbelief written all over his features. Except for the scars crisscrossed all over his thin chest and the darker, wiser look in his big green eyes, Tweak Tweek hadn't changed much. His hair, which had always been such a wild _mess _Clyde jokingly used to call him Sideshow Bob, had grown even longer. It stuck out in all directions and covered his forehead in unruly blonde bangs. Tweak desperately needed to put some meat on his bones and there were dark circles under his eyes, but his childhood friend had always been unconventionally _attractive_. He stood by the side of the car wearing nothing but sneakers and a pair of dirty pajama bottoms with the Power Rangers cavorting around in dramatic poses. With the snow drifting all around, somehow Tweak looked almost as badass as Mysterion did. Or maybe Clyde had just _really _missed the guy.

"Tweak…" Clyde whispered, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, "...the _hell_, you spastic fuck."

Tweak's mouth lifted in a wry smile. "Aw jeeze, man, don't cry. All these fucking emotions are way too much pressure."

"The hell, dude!" Clyde cried, lowering his revolver all the way, "_How_ did you..._when_ did you…" Clyde sniffled. "You _disappeared_! I didn't know if you were dead or alive! You couldn't pick up a fucking _phone_?"

"Tch, _phones_. No way, man! Phones are part of Project HAARP, High-frequency Active Auroral Research!"

"Fucking _what_?"

"The government is blasting the sky with energy rays from antennas placed at HAARP's location in Alaska," Tweak continued earnestly, "those rays could then potentially be reflected back into the Earth's ionosphere on an extremely low frequency!"

"_So_?"

"It will _seriously _fuck up your shit, man! Those low frequency waves are capable of penetrating your fucking _brain_. The government could program your phone to _mind wipe _you! I'm not going to be a part of that, man,_ no way_!"

Clyde stared at Tweak incredulously for a second or two, and then burst into helpless laughter, wiping his eyes. "Oh my fucking _God_, you're even crazier than I remember."

"You've put on more weight!" Tweak shot back, grinning a little. Tweak's expression quickly became remorseful. "Seriously man...I couldn't call. I just couldn't. I'm sorry, I had a lot of stuff going on."

"Stuff." Clyde repeated dubiously, glancing at the silent, scowling form of Mysterion, "Like hanging out with _vigilantes_? That kind of stuff? You know this guy is wanted, right? If you're caught helping him you're going to be in a whole lot of fucking trouble, dude!"

"So just let us go, man. Walk away." Tweak pleaded.

"Walk _away_?" Clyde snorted, "No-can-do, broseph. I can see about getting you some house arrest, maybe a couple years probation, but that's it." Clyde his head sadly. "As for you -"

Clyde whirled on Mysterion and pointed his gun at the masked superhero, grinning, "- you're under arrest, fuckface!"

Mysterion looked amused, but he just lifted his hands in the air. "Arrest me," he said simply, in that low, gravelly voice of his.

Clyde approached him cautiously, reaching for his handcuffs. Mysterion watched him patiently, his thick cowl obscuring half his face.

"No funny business, dude," Clyde warned, keeping his gun trained on Mysterion as he twisted one of the superhero's arms behind his back and slapped the cuff down on his wrist._ Damn, that was easy. _Clyde started to reach for Mysterion's other wrist, smiling happily. Oh man, he could just imagine the look on Token's face…

Mysterion suddenly jerked away from him. Clyde tried to raise his gun again, but the superhero was just too _fast_. Clyde didn't actually see the punch coming, he he sure as hell _felt _it. Pain exploded across his face, blurring his vision. Clyde cursed, stumbling, and that's when Mysterion punched him again. Clyde's head snapped back, his mind went blank, and he crumpled bonelessly in the snow, knocked unconscious.

Mysterion sighed and reached down to grab the keys to the handcuffs currently dangling from one wrist. He tossed them down on Clyde's unconscious body and trudged back to the car, shaking his head. Clearly, Officer Clyde Donovan was not a shining example of what the South Park Police Department had to offer.

"Satisfied?" Mysterion growled at his partner. Tweak knelt down beside Clyde, gently smoothing back his childhood friend's messy brown hair.

"Bye, Clyde." Tweak said sadly.

In the back of the car, Leopold 'Butters' Stotch breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

"Are you okay, Butters?" Mysterion asked, climbing wearily back into the driver's seat.

"Y-yeah," Butters mumbled, nodding. "Um...thank you. Both of you fellas."

"No problem." Mysterion replied, briefly catching Butters's gaze.

"So, now what?" Tweak asked in a glum tone, flopping down in the passenger seat and immediately drawing his knees up his chest, "Assuming the base isn't up in _flames _right now, which I seriously doubt, it's totally been compromised, man. We can't go back there, not after a stunt like this."

"We'll figure it out." Mysterion replied calmly, slowly driving away from Clyde and his idling police car. Hopefully, it wouldn't be too long before he came around or someone found him.

"Will we?" Tweak demanded archly, his voice thick and sharp with crankiness. Tweak was paranoid, anxious and easily excited, but he had a _surprisingly _upbeat disposition most times. He wasn't often cranky (except when he hadn't had his coffee!) and even after all the shit he'd been through, he was rarely ever sad. Tweak Tweek could take an unprecedented amount of bullshit with his usual wry, offbeat humor, but every once in a while the guy would throw down the towel and go, _Nope. Not doing it today. Fuck the world and everything in it. _A cranky Tweak was almost as bad as an angry Tweak, and Mysterion didn't particularly like to deal with either one.

"Figure it out, he says," Tweak mumbles angrily, hugging his knees to his chest, "fuck first and ask for the AIDS test later, he says. Act like _a big dumb prick_ and not follow simple fucking _directions_, he says."

"Tweak. The hell are you talking about." Mysterion said, so tired his question didn't come out sounding like a question.

"_None_ of this would have happened if you hadn't brought a stranger to the base!" Tweak shouted, frustrated. "How many fucking times did I tell you not to do it, huh?! HUH?! And you did it anyway, because _you_, my friend, have dick-for-brains! You are _king _of the Dick Heads! _Rah_! And now we're riding around in your shitty little car with a Sarah Connor _wannabe _in the back seat, and we have _nowhere _to go!" Tweak glanced apologetically back at Butters. "N-no offense, kiddo."

"None taken." Butters replied dryly, rolling his eyes.

"You're right, Tweak. It's all my fault." Mysterion deadpanned. "Clearly, I need to be punished. When we get to Bebe's house, you can bend me over your knee and spank me until my ass is red and chapped."

Tweak glared at the superhero, a slight flush rising in his cheeks. "Hmph. You'd _like _that," he finally muttered, glancing sullenly out the window.

Mysterion's mouth twitched in a smile. "I would."

"Bebe's house?" Tweak asked, perking up a little. "R-really?"

"Yeah," Mysterion sighed, "I hate getting her involved in this stuff, but we're running low on options."

"Bebe," Tweak said again, tasting the name with a goofy grin, "I'd like that. I like _her_. Mmm, Bebe..."

"Please don't." Mysterion tried to sound stern, but there was a wry smile on his face. "She already thinks you're _creepy_, dude. If she throws us out, we really won't have anywhere to go."

"I wasn't gonna do anything, man." Tweak grumbled, scratching the side of his head. He added in a tone so low Mysterion barely caught it, "...I already know nobody'd ever want me."

Mysterion jerked his head in Tweak's direction, his brows raised questioningly, but Tweak obviously hadn't expected him to catch that last bit, or he was too distracted by his own thoughts. Either way, Tweak had gone back to staring sullenly out the window when Butters piped up urgently, grasping the back of Mysterion's headrest.

"Fellas...stop the car."

"Is something wrong, Butters?" Mysterion demanded, alarmed.

"Jus' stop the car!" Butters sobbed.

Mysterion quickly pulled over, and as soon as he did, Butters jumped out, fell to his knees and vomited in the snow. The superhero watched helplessly at Butters retched and heaved painfully, and when he couldn't take it any more, he knelt beside him and rubbed his back as Butters continued to heave, bringing up nothing but horrible choking sounds.

"Butters, _breathe_. Just breathe." Mysterion urged soothingly. "That's it, take a deep breath…"

" 'm sorry," Butters whimpered, tears streaking his boyish face, "I got sick, seein' all the blood."

"You don't have to apologize, kid," Tweak said softly, kneeling down on the other side of the boy, "Jesus man, you kept it together longer than I would have."

Butters swallowed, licking his pale, dry lips. Mysterion had hoped the kid would feel better after throwing up, but if anything, Butters looked even sicker._ He needs rest and he needs it yesterday. _

"We're almost at Bebe's." Mysterion announced firmly, reaching down to help Butters up, but the blonde-haired boy remained firmly in place.

"Ya'll are forgettin' somethin'," Butters said, sounding weak, "the trackin' device in my b-back."

_Oh, shit. _Mysterion and Tweak exchanged horrified, helpless glances as Butters began peeling off his shirt. His small, malnourished frame was covered with more marks and bruises, each one seeming to tell a horrific story of pain. There was a small area of raised flesh near his spine, like a large bump under his skin. Butters reached into his pocket with small, shaking hands and withdrew a tiny folding knife, holding it out for Mysterion to take.

"You gotta cut it out." Butters whispered, his aquamarine eyes wet with tears, but there was no fear in them, no nervousness, only grim resignation. "As long as I have this t-thing in me, I'll never really be safe."

"Butters..." Mysterion hissed. He felt so sick he thought _he _was going to vomit. "Jesus _Christ_, dude."

"M-maybe we should wait until -" Tweak began nervously, but Butters shot him a look of defiance, his eyes flashing.

"No, we _can't _fucking wait! We gotta do this _now_," Butters insisted, tightening his grip on the knife, "Craig could be comin' for me _as we speak._ These people will never give up, not until they have me back, an' I'd rather die first!" Butters's chin jutted in a familiar look of determination. "I woulda done it myself, but all I been able to do since I escaped is run. An' I'm real tired of runnin'. I'm so...tired."

Butters's face fell, the exhaustion that had gripped him for God-knows-how-long finally evident in his eyes. His shoulders slumped and an expression of misery crossed his youthful face, too youthful to know such sadness. It took everything in Mysterion not to drop to his knees, pull the boy into his arms and hold him close, rocking gently.

"Don't worry about hurtin' me," Butters added, as if they needed some sort of convincing, "I can heal myself jus' like I can heal other people. I jus' need some rest is all, but we gotta do this _now_, fellas. If we go to Bebe's house first, you'll jus' be makin' your friend a target."

"Oh _jeeze_," Tweak muttered, his voice lacking it's usual high-energy edge. Tweak looked pale and frightened, and Mysterion couldn't blame him one bit. In fact, the only person who _didn't _seem scared was Butters, even though he was about to endure more pain on top of what he'd already had to put up with. The blonde-haired boy was still holding the knife out to Mysterion, his aquamarine eyes calm and sad, but hopeful. After a long moment, Mysterion took it, slowly unfolding the blade. It was small but clean, and wickedly sharp.

"Are you really gonna do this, man?" Tweak asked in a small voice, shaking a little.

_Do I have a choice? _Steeling himself, Mysterion positioned behind Butters, eyeing the area where the device was implanted. The knife in his hands felt ridiculously heavy.

"Hold him." Mysterion ordered flatly, and for once, Tweak silently did as he was told. The spastic blonde knelt in the snow in front of Butters, carefully wrapping his arms around the boy's waist. For all his bravado, Butters shuddered violently and buried his face against Tweek's scarred torso, tense and frightened.

"It's gonna be okay, kiddo," Tweak said, giving the blonde-haired boy a comforting squeeze, "just you see, after this we'll all go out for ice cream!"

Butters chuckled, the sound muffled. "'Kay."

Mysterion took off his gloves. After a moment, he ripped the mask off his face and let the purple cowl draped over his head fall, his long, hay-colored blonde hair catching in the breeze. Tweak raised a brow at him, surprised, but said nothing.

"Butters," Kenny said, picking up the knife, "are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be." Butters lifted his head a little, but didn't turn around. "You sound all different."

Kenny laughed softly. "It's still me. Hold still, okay?"

Butters nodded, and let his head drop against Tweak's chest. Kenny brandished the blade swiftly, his movements steady in spite of his pounding heart. He made a quick incision, and blood immediately welled up and ran down Butters's back in thin red rivers. The boy made a small noise of pain, but otherwise he kept silent and still, his eyes screwed shut. _I'll have to go a little deeper,_ Kenny thought in despair, reinserting the blade. This time Butters whimpered, clinging desperately to Tweak while the older male hummed soothingly. Tweak Tweek was no stranger to pain.

"You're doing good, kiddo," Tweak said, as Kenny began to dig around in the incision he'd made, and Butters couldn't help sobbing because it _hurt so much_, "Just a little more, man, you can _do _this! Channel Sarah Connor!"

"Aw, Jesus fucking _hamburgers_," Butters half-sobbed, half-laughed, squeezing Tweak so hard he thought he was going to crush him. But Tweak was certainly steadier than he looked, because he just kept right on trying to comfort him. Butters felt a pulse of agony so intense he thought he was going to faint, and for a moment the world became a dull, hellish place where nothing existed but discomfort. After a second that seemed like an eternity, the agony passed and there was only a throbbing pain that was not much better.

"I got it," Kenny said wearily, his voice cracking a little. He tossed the knife aside in disgust, carelessly wiping his bloody hands on his costume. In Kenny's palm was a small, bullet-like device, bluish in color.

"You hear that, kid? You're all set!" Tweak said, trying to sound cheerful. Butters didn't respond. Tweak shifted so that the blonde-haired boy was resting in his arms, shaking him a little. Butters hadn't quite fainted, but he was so dazed it was almost as if he'd been drugged. Tweak held his hand out for the device and Kenny handed it over obediently. Tweak held it in front of Butters's face.

"See, kid? Now nobody owns you anymore." Tweak said softly. Butters's aquamarine gaze was unfocused, but he smiled at Tweak's words, so sweetly it broke Kenny's heart.

"Are you healing yourself, Butters?" Kenny asked, brushing Butters's hair off his brow, which was sweaty in spite of the cold.

"I will." Butters replied faintly, "Jus' tired. Not enough...energy."

"Well, we better get you to a bed then, man." Tweak said firmly. Kenny picked up Butters's discarded shirt and wrapped it around the boy, scooping him up. Butters studied Kenny's unmasked face with his unfocused eyes, looking faintly amused.

"S-so, _that's _what you look like," Butters observed, smiling a little, "not what I was expectin'."

"Oh? And what were you expecting?" Kenny asked teasingly, as Tweak turned the device thoughtfully over in his hands.

"Someone crazier lookin'," Butters answered earnestly, in his faint, weak voice, "you'd _have _to be crazy, to run around pretendin' to be Batman o-or somebody. Jus'...I dunno. I wasn't expectin' you to look like a gosh-darned Calvin Klein model."

That comment was so unexpected Kenny laughed out loud, a sound low and rich and playful. Tweak looked up, a smile playing across his own lips.

"You're _full _of surprises, Buttercup." Kenny said, unable to help the intimate cadence of his voice as he carefully tucked Butters back into the car. Butters frowned a little, his eyes drifting shut.

"Don't call me that," Butters chided, " 'm name's Leopold."

"Hm?"

"Leopold Stotch." Butters mumbled, before unconsciousness finally claimed him. Kenny studied the boy for a moment, and then closed the car door.

"Well, this was fuuun!" Tweak commented lightly, bouncing the device up and down in his hand. "What the hell do you think about all this, man?"

"Honestly? I have _no _fucking clue." Kenny said, casting one last glance back at Butters. "This is beyond anything we've _ever _dealt with, Tweak."

"Which is why it's _fun_!" Tweak replied, grinning fiercely. "Hey, wanna see a magic trick?"

Kenny cocked his head, confused. Tweak tossed the tracking device in the air and drew the 9mm that he'd tucked into his waistband. The damn thing couldn't have been much bigger than a standard USB stick, but Tweak shot it almost dead-center. The device exploded into a million microscopic pieces, decorating the snow like glitter.

"And with that, Tweak made it disappear!" Tweak said happily.

"Fucking _show-off_." Kenny said, grinning. "Let's get the fuck out of here, dude."

"Right. Bebe's house." Tweak muttered to himself, climbing back inside the car. "The house of Bebe. Ngh. Right."

Once again, Kenny drove off into the night, the thickly falling snow soon erasing all evidence that they'd ever been there.

And, somewhere on the other side of town, Craig Tucker was cursing to himself, a scowl on his handsome face.

"God damn it." Craig said, as the GPS tracking Leopold Stotch went dead. "Why me."

Reluctantly, Craig reached into the inner pocket of his suit for his cell phone. The wild-haired maniac's bullet was still lodged firmly in his bulletproof vest.

If he hadn't been wearing it, it would have pierced Craig's heart.

He scowled again.

"Red," Craig said when he was finally able to get someone on the line, his voice deep and sonorous, "There's been a problem. Get Doctor Mephesto on the line."


	4. Interlude - Bitterness

**-Interlude-  
**

* * *

Bebe Stevens pulled her car into the driveway of her modest home, cut the engine, and waited.

She knew it was a stupid, pointless thing to do, but she just couldn't help herself. Bebe was tired. It had been a long night. All she really wanted to do was take a shower and fall right into bed, but even with all these _practical _concerns, somehow, Bebe just couldn't bring herself to go inside. Instead, she clutched her keys in one hand and her purse in the other, gazing solemnly out into the night with shrewd pale green eyes. Bebe was almost positive that if Kenny could see her now, he would be laughing. To be perfectly honest, Bebe felt like laughing at herself. _Take your ass in the house, beautiful! _God. How unfair was it that she could still recall his voice with perfect clarity, just like it was yesterday?

Bebe sighed and closed her eyes. She was dressed modestly, in a fur-lined coat, dark jeans and a thick sweater. Winter had returned with a vengeance, so it was only normal to dress snugly, but Bebe tended to wear lots of layers even in warm weather. Being a stripper wasn't exactly an _honorable _profession, but as any stripper will tell you, it paid the bills. Bebe wasn't ashamed of what she did, but she wasn't interested in showing much skin in her everyday life, either. Just because she got paid to take her clothes off didn't mean she didn't find the lecherous stares uncomfortable. The only time she truly felt at ease as when she was dressed in her frumpy sweaters and baggy pants. Anything else felt too much like a costume, like she was putting on another sleazy show. When Bebe first met Kenny, she'd thought he might prefer her in tighter clothes, but Kenny had just smiled at her insecurities. _All I care about is if you're happy_, Kenny told her once.

Maybe that's when she first fell in _love_.

Love. Bebe snorted derisively. What had _happened _to her? The tough, level-headed, _practical _young woman who used to roll her eyes at the very notion, who was only interested in looking out for herself, had finally fallen in love and fallen _hard_.

It was too bad the man who'd claimed her heart wouldn't return her feelings.

A disappointed scowl crossed Bebe's face. She had always been wild and headstrong, but she was smarter than people gave her credit for. Just because she liked to party didn't mean she was _bimbo_, and the fact that she liked sex didn't make her a _slut_. She had always believed in doing whatever made her feel good, whatever empowered her as a person. Bebe Stevens was much too confident to _ever _give into other people's expectations.

Her willfulness had made her into something of a problem child, at least from her parents' standpoint. They'd been conservative, old-fashioned folk who'd firmly believed that their daughter should close her legs like a good little virgin and wait for Prince Charming to sweep her off her feet so she could get married, have babies, and spend the rest of her life cooking and cleaning. _Fat chance! _Bebe's free spirited nature had clashed badly with her parents' need for control. She had rebelled against them every chance she got...probably more than was really necessary. But she was just a kid after all, a young woman with fire in her eyes and something to prove. So when her parents told her to stay in, she snuck out. When her mother slapped her face and called her a whore, she made it a point to have as much sex as possible, just to _spite _her. When her father set up a date for her with Gary Harrison, a nice, church-going young Mormon boy, Bebe ditched him and hung out behind the arcade smoking pot with Clyde Donovan. And when she finally turned eighteen, Bebe moved out of her parents' house and _never _looked back.

Clyde...gosh, Bebe hadn't thought of him in _years_. They'd gone to school together right here in South Park, had even lived on the same block for as long as she could remember. Bebe had always liked Clyde's relaxed, friendly personality. Donovan had this whole dumb frat-boy thing going for him, but Bebe had always found him oddly endearing, with his sweet face and ridiculous love of tacos. She hadn't even minded his blatant overuse of the word, _dude_, which normally would have gotten on her last nerve. Clyde had the biggest, most _obvious _crush on her, and Bebe had liked him enough to seriously consider dating him once upon a time, but after graduation they'd all gone their separate ways.

South Park was the sort of town where everyone knew _everyone_, no matter what you were doing or what part of town you came from. Regular kids like Bebe Stevens, Clyde Donovan, Tweak Tweek and Stan Marsh had all gone to the big public school. Rich kids - or least those who had parents who could _afford _it - had gone to the fancy private school across town, like Wendy Testaburger, Eric Cartman, Token Black and Kyle Broflovski. Others had either attended smaller schools on the _bad _side of town, or learned everything they needed to know at home and in the streets. Kenny claimed to be one of those people, but he was so damned _mysterious _about his personal information Bebe could never be one hundred percent sure of anything he told her. It was _vexing_, to say the least.

Some people had gone away for college, only to come right back. Others had stayed, and tried to make something of themselves in this small mountain town. Bebe still heard the names of her childhood friends mentioned, even ran into people she recognized every once in a while, but everything had changed. She really didn't mind. Everyone had to grow up at some point.

Including her. Bebe was stupid enough to think she was ready for the world at eighteen, but smart enough to know that her looks could take her places. So she became a stripper. In her defense, it was only supposed to be _temporary_, just until she figured out what she really wanted to do with her life. But she never figured it out, and the money was good enough to make her overlook a lot of distasteful things about the place. So Bebe, being eighteen and headstrong, stuck around. She convinced herself that she could leave any time. When the manager grabbed her ass one day in the break room, she overlooked it. When a guy she was giving a lap dance got a little handsy and the other girls told her to "just roll with it", Bebe overlooked that, too. She had finally won her independence, and Bebe wasn't going to give it up. Crawling back to her parents was the same as admitting defeat.

Besides, it wasn't all bad. She met Kenny while she was dancing at the club, after all.

He was so intriguing, even back then. Tall and devilishly handsome, with a playful smile and sensuous dark blue eyes, all the girls had a crush on him, Bebe included. He never got dances, though, never partook in the club's activities. Kenny came in two or three times a week and sat by himself at the bar, drinking with a contemplative expression on his face. Occasionally he'd light a cigarette, and none of the girls had the heart to tell him it was a no-smoking section, not even the bartender. The girls in that place flirted with him _constantly_. Kenny would always flirt right back, with the silver tongue of a playboy, but he never did much more than that.

Bebe waltzed right up to him one day and lit his cigarette for him as Kenny was searching through his pockets for his cheap lighter. Kenny seemed amused at that, his dark blue eyes twinkling as she leaned seductively forward, her big, perky breasts on display. Bebe always knew how to play up her best assets. She grinned at Kenny mischievously and took a seat right next to him at the bar, ignoring all the other girls' jealous looks.

"It's _Kenny_, right?" Bebe said, drumming her fingers lightly on the countertop.

"That's right. How did you know?" Kenny replied, his lips quirking in a wry smile. Kenny had a surprisingly high voice for a guy, light and soft, a little teasing. Bebe rolled her eyes.

"Don't act coy. Every girl in here knows your name. They're all just _dying _to know more about you."

Kenny laughed softly. "They'd be disappointed. I'm not interesting at all."

"Somehow, I _seriously _doubt that." Bebe said, shaking her head. Her long fall of strawberry-blonde ringlets shimmered in the lights as she did so. "There's just one thing I have to ask...why do you come to a strip club just to have a few drinks? You _do _know that everything at the bar is overpriced as hell, don't you? You could go to _Skeeter's _and get the same whiskey sour for half the price."

"You know my name _and _what I drink?" Kenny asked, raising a brow. "I'm _flattered_."

"Don't avoid the question," Bebe admonished gently. "So?"

Kenny shrugged. "I'm just like any other guy who goes to a strip club. I'm here for the girls."

"Hmm, see, I _might _actually believe that if you ever got any dances. But you don't. In fact, if the girls hadn't flirted with you first, you wouldn't have noticed them at all, am I right?"

"You're a regular Sherlock Holmes. I noticed _you_, though." Kenny replied, his tone lowering to an almost-seductive level. Bebe was no stranger to being flirted with. Her job was all about acting like she was interested in the disgusting guys who frequented the place so she could earn her tips, but Kenny's intimate cadence made her blush all the same.

"Maybe I don't get dances because I can't afford you lovely ladies," Kenny continued, chuckling. "Last time I checked, looking was free."

"Oh?" Bebe bit her lip, and said impulsively, "Would you like a dance from me, then? On the house."

Kenny looked at her, studying her face with those dark blue eyes of his, eyes that were _impossible _not to get lost in. Bebe had no idea what he was thinking, but his stare made her blush even harder, glancing away, and that had _never _happened to her before. Bebe prided herself on being bold. No man's gaze had ever made her fidget like a nervous schoolgirl.

"Sounds nice," Kenny eventually murmured, "but I have to refuse, beautiful. I just wouldn't feel right taking all your hard work for free."

"But what if I didn't it consider it work?" Bebe asked, her tone challenging. "What if I did it just because I damn well wanted to?"

"Well, that'd be a different story!" Kenny said, laughing at her fierce tone. "Still...maybe next time, beautiful."

"Alright," Bebe said, fighting to keep her disappointment off her face. She stepped away from the bar, her hands on her voluptuous hips. "Enjoy your drinks, then."

"It's _Bebe_, isn't it?" Kenny called after her, before she could escape and lick her wounds of humiliation in peace. Bebe turned, her eyes wide with surprise.

"I...yes. How did you know?"

"Don't act coy," Kenny said, teasingly parroting her earlier words right back at her, "Every man in here knows your name. They're all just _dying _to know more about you...myself included."

"Ah…" Bebe hadn't known what to say, so she'd just smiled awkwardly and walked off as fast as she could. She could feel Kenny staring at her the entire time.

They became friends after that. Bebe made it a point to talk to Kenny at the bar whenever he came in, even though it was cutting into her tips. She even got him to accept that free lap dance, eventually. Bebe took Kenny by the hand and led him to a private booth the second he agreed. She danced as slowly and tantalizingly as she knew how, but halfway through, when she could no longer _stand _the sexual tension, Bebe stuck her tongue down his throat and jerked him off. Kenny came helplessly, spilling himself into her hands, and afterward she nestled in his lap while he stroked her hair. Bebe faked sick so she could leave early with Kenny that night, and it still counted as one of the best, most _satisfying _decisions she'd ever made.

But they'd always only been friends. Kenny trusted her enough to tell her some of his deepest and darkest secrets, while Bebe loved him with her all her heart. She would gladly do _anything_ for him. Friends were all that they were, though. Just _friends_. The word tasted bitter as poison to her now. Kenny had told her from the very beginning that he didn't do relationships, and Bebe had gone and fallen in love with him anyway, because she was headstrong...and an idiot.

_You said you'd see me if you ever needed me, _Bebe thought sadly, shivering in the now freezing car,_ but I haven't seen you in over a year. I guess you never really needed me._

Shaking her head at her own foolishness, Bebe Stevens got out of her car and went inside.

She was immediately greeted by her cat, Muffins. Bebe reached down to scratch Muffins behind an ear when he rubbed up against her legs, and was just about to pull her sweater over her head when her doorbell rang. Despite the fact that she'd just been longing so desperately for Kenny, the _ding-dong!_ chime made her freeze up, her pale green eyes widening in fear. It was almost five o'clock in the morning. No normal person would have dared to stop by her place at such an ungodly hour. Bebe approached the door cautiously, her heart hammering in her chest. She looked through the peephole, but the falling snow had fogged it up and she couldn't see anything. _The ax-murderers are working late, apparently. _

The doorbell rang again, but this time it was followed by a sweet, familiar voice. "Bebe? Open up, beautiful."

Bebe gasped, and threw open her door. Her heart was soaring with joy, but the sight that greeted her nearly made her recoil with fear again.

"_Kenny_? What in the fresh _fuck_?" Bebe blurted, staring at her beloved with wide, horrified eyes. Kenny rubbed the back of his neck and smiled self-consciously.

"Hey babe," he said, meeting her gaze almost tentatively, "something, uh, came up. Mind if we crash at your place for a bit?"

Bebe opened and closed her mouth helplessly. Kenny was dressed in his Mysterion costume, but his face was uncovered and his cowl was lowered. His handsome mug was covered with tiny cuts and there was blood smeared on his clothes, but thankfully, none of it seemed to have come from him. Kenny had two duffel bags, one on each shoulder, and his hands were bare and stained dark brown with more dried blood. Standing behind him was Tweak Tweek, his wild platinum-blonde hair even wilder than usual from all the snow and the wind. He was wearing a dirty pair of Power Rangers pajama bottoms and an even _dirtier _pair of sneakers, but nothing else. Tucked into the waistband of Tweak's pajamas were two 9mm handguns, and the sight of them made Bebe's blood run cold. His ugly, scarred torso filled her with disgust, but Tweak refused to meet her gaze no matter how hard she glared at him, choosing instead to shyly study the ground between his feet. In Tweak's arms was a small, unconscious boy wrapped in a faded flannel shirt. Just like Kenny's costume, it was also smeared with blood.

"Bebe," Kenny said again when she just stared silently, frozen in place, "_Please_, babe."

The pleading note in Kenny's voice finally snapped Bebe out of her shock. Without another word, Bebe stood back so they could enter her home, filing in like weary soldiers returned from war. Tweak immediately made a beeline for one of her couches and gently eased the unconscious boy down.

"Okay. So what happened?" Bebe asked, proud of how calm she sounded. Tweak just kind of fidgeted anxiously in response to her question, but she hadn't been expecting a _decent _answer from that nut-job anyway.

"Mysterion stuff," Kenny answered, his voice laced with a weariness Bebe had never heard before. "It's a _hell _of a long story, Bebe. Tweak and I got into some major shit tonight."

"Yeah, I can tell." Bebe replied dryly. Her voice softened and she hugged herself. "What's up with the kid? Is he...going to be okay?"

"He'll be fine." Kenny rubbed the back of his neck again, smiling faintly. "He can heal himself."

"_Excuse_ me?"

"Yep. As in _spontaneous regeneration_. And not just himself, but other people, too." Kenny couldn't help smiling at Bebe's utterly confused expression. The voluptuous young woman looked as if she had just been sent to a bizarre parallel universe.

"Spontaneous...regeneration." Bebe repeated slowly, as if they were nonsense words. "Really."

"Really," Kenny sighed, "like I said, it's a long story."

"Apparently! Look, I trust you Kenny, you know that. But this _long story_ of yours had better be a damn good one, too, because you aren't making _any _fucking sense right now!" Bebe replied heatedly.

"I know," Kenny said softly, and then he smiled at her again. That smile had always melted her heart. "Thank you, Bebe."

"Yeah, yeah," Bebe muttered, shaking her head._ I'm so hopeless around him. _"Fine, you can stay as long as you need to. Tweak and the kid -"

"Butters."

"Huh?"

"Leopold," Kenny said softly, gesturing toward the unconscious boy, "his name. Leopold Stotch."

"...Okay," Bebe said, vaguely wondering why Kenny had felt the need to interrupt her with that tidbit, "Tweak and Leopold can share the guest room downstairs, or Tweak can use my couch, if he wants."_ I don't really want him on my couch, or even in my house, but…_

"We can share my room upstairs," Bebe continued, pulling spare blankets out of a linen closet, "Shower, kitchen...you know where everything is, Ken. Help yourself." After a moment, Bebe added grudgingly, "You too, Tweak."

Tweak twitched at the sound of her voice. "Y-yeah. Thanks, man. Uh, I mean, B-Bebe. Thanks _Bebe_. Ngh, you're not a man. I meant it in a _non-gender specific_ kind of way, man, l-like -"

"Tweak." Bebe snapped, her voice full of warning. Tweak flushed and closed his mouth.

"Thanks," Kenny said again, running his stained hands back through his long hair, "I mean it, babe. I'll find a way to make this up to you."

"You don't have to make anything up to me, Ken," Bebe said softly, her arms full of blankets, "you've already made it up to me more times than I can count. So c'mon, let's get you guys settled."

By the time they got everything "settled", a pale dawn was breaking over the horizon, signaling a new day in the small town of South Park.

Tweak decided to share the guest room with Butters, mostly because he would have felt much too uncomfortable crashing on Bebe's nice couches. Butters hadn't stirred once, and was now comfortably bundled up in bed, while Tweak had made himself a pallet out of spare covers on the floor right next to it, staring blankly at the framed picture of his parents. His twin 9mm handguns lay on the floor beside him, within easy reaching distance.

He was pretty goddamned exhausted, man, but Tweak couldn't sleep. Sleep had never come easy for him to begin with, and ever since his parents had died, his insomnia had gotten even worse.

"Hey Mom. Hey Dad. You guys would have been _totally _proud of me tonight," Tweak whispered to his parents' picture, sadly studying their happy smiles. "I did something. I helped someone. See?"

Tweak carefully set the picture aside, but still, he couldn't sleep. He got up, paced anxiously around the room, lay back down and stared blankly up at the ceiling. Tweak thought he could hear Bebe and Kenny talking, but surely that was just his imagination. Sighing, Tweak rolled over and found himself staring up at Butters's peaceful, sleeping face. The covers had slipped down from around the boy's shoulders, so Tweak got up again to adjust them, carefully tucking Butters in.

"Hey, kiddo. Been a big night for you too, huh?" Tweak muttered. He didn't stop to wonder why he was talking to a _sleeping _person. Maybe he just needed someone to talk to. Or maybe everyone was right, and he was just _crazy_.

"Hope you feel better, kid. For the record, you were tough as nails!" Tweak sat back on the floor, still studying Butters's face. He scratched the side of his head, running his long fingers through his wild blonde hair. Sometimes, when the sun hit it just right, it looked almost silvery. But that was pretty rare. Tweak had a love-hate relationship with going outside.

"How much do you wanna bet they'll talk, she'll cry about feeling abandoned, Kenny will make up some excuse why he didn't keep in touch, and then win her over with a charming smile and a witty retort?" Tweak asked Butters, dropping his chin into his waiting palm, "And then they'll bang, man. Of course they will! It's, like, a _foregone conclusion_, man. As inevitable as the sunrise."

Tweak leaned back, closing his vivid green eyes. "I think Bebe's room is right above ours. _Jeeze_, man, I hope they're at least discreet about it. I doubt it, though. Kenny's a real stud. Wink-wink, nudge-nudge, man. We might get showered in debris from the ceiling, kid. Oh _God_, he might bang her so hard he severs her uterus_ in half_! Better pray Bebe's vagina holds up against all that banging, man! Imagine if you woke up with your severed uterus between the sheets? All that blood. And mucus, probably. Yeah. Not cool, man."

Tweak opened one eye, smiling a little. "Am I being mean?"

Butters shifted a little in his sleep.

"Ngh, I didn't think so. You seem like a real nice kid, you know?"

Tweak shifted again, drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his head on his folded arms. He was quiet for a long time, listening to Butters's steady breathing in the dimness of his borrowed room.

"I think you probably understand, kid," Tweak murmured, "what it feels like to be so lonely you think you're going to _drown_. Do you get what I'm talking about, kid?"

Silence and the sound of breathing.

"Do I sound bitter, man?"

More silence, more breathing.

"Yeah," Tweak said, nodding. "Yeah."


	5. 3

**3**.

"The hell!" Stan cried, frowning darkly. "Why are you partnering me with this _retard_? He can't tell his dick from a _flashlight_!"

"Not according to your _Mom_," Clyde replied smugly, "I used both on her last night."

**~ an overheard exchange. **

* * *

Craig Tucker was very good at pretending nothing was bothering him. His ability to remain cool and expressionless under pressure was probably why Doctor Alphonse Mephesto had promoted him to head of security, but the truth was...well…

The truth was that this place had always _creeped _him the fuck out.

Craig had showered and dressed in a suit so dark blue it looked black, the expensive tailoring perfectly complementing his broad shoulders and slim waist. Dr. Mephesto hadn't _sounded _angry over the phone, had even insisted that Craig get some rest and come talk to him in the morning, but Craig knew better than to trust the old man's friendly tone. Leopold Stotch was vitally important to Mephesto and his research, and Craig knew damn well that the lunatic wouldn't be happy until he had Leopold _back_. _Damn it all._

Craig _dreaded _the conversation to come. He was supposed to be the head of security for the South Park Genetic Engineering Ranch, the best of the best, and yet somehow the boy had managed to escape on _his _watch. As if that weren't bad enough, Leopold had evaded capture for _days_, proving himself to be a lot more resourceful than his innocent looks had led Craig to believe. As infuriating as it had been to have the boy slip through his fingers time and time again, Craig couldn't help feeling a certain amount of grudging respect. It would only be a matter of time before Craig found Leopold and dragged him back kicking and screaming, but the kid was smart and extremely determined. Those had always been traits Craig admired.

_Admiration _didn't change the job he'd been tasked with, however.

Leopold escaping from the lab in the first place wasn't entirely Craig's fault. Failing to capture him not once, but _multiple times,_ definitely was. By now, the whole damned facility would know that he'd mucked it up yet again, and the thought of what these useless eggheads must be saying made Craig want to grind his teeth into a fine white powder. It was one thing to underestimate your quarry, but quite another to be foiled by a man who had nothing better to do than to parade around as _costumed superhero,_ and a guy who still wore Power Rangers fucking _pajamas_. Idiots. God, if there was one thing Craig hated more than anything else in this world, it was _idiots_. Craig was a man who liked rules and routines, who enjoyed doing things by the book. He loathed surprises and firmly believed in the power of common-fucking-sense, but nothing seemed to be making any _sense _right now.

The idiots were making him look bad.

"Fuck my life," Craig muttered as he stepped into an elevator.

The lower levels of the Genetic Engineering Ranch were normally off-limits to all except for a select few, and Craig was one of the few. It wasn't something he was proud of. The laboratories down there were huge and extensive, filled with things Craig would have been perfectly happy never knowing existed. When the elevator chimed to a stop on B4, Craig immediately headed for Mephesto's office, ignoring the curious looks he received. As far as Craig was concerned, ignoring people was one of his most _useful _skills. Craig strolled past men and women in lab coats, past sterile rooms with million-dollar machinery, past cages upon cages of animals who would never see the light of day, never know what it was like to walk on grass, never know a moment that wasn't filled with cruelty and pain. Monkeys rattled the bars that sealed their cold prisons, screeching. Mice with strange growths chittered at the sight of him. A dog watched him go with its nose pressed against his cage, his sad brown eyes full of mute appeal.

Leopold had once looked at him like that. Craig's hands tightened into fists at his sides, but he ignored everything and kept going.

Doctor's Mephesto's office was lavish. Craig slipped inside and quickly closed the door, filled with trepidation. Mephesto was seated behind his desk carefully going over some reports, but he smiled when Craig entered and beckoned him closer. Craig couldn't help but notice that smile didn't reach Mephesto's eyes, which were small and hard as black diamonds. He also couldn't help but notice that they weren't alone.

Rebecca Schwartz, better known simply as _Red, _was also in attendance. She was leaning casually against Doctor Mephesto's desk, watching Craig with a sly smile. Unlike Mephesto, Red's smile _did _reach her eyes, but that didn't make Craig feel any better. In fact, it sort of made him feel _worse_. Craig frowned at the sight of her, but Red just laughed off his disapproving look, dropping him a seductive wink.

Craig frowned even harder.

Red was a slender young woman with full lips, big brown eyes and long red hair, which was probably how she'd earned her nickname. Beautiful, capable and utterly ruthless, Red ran the security team as his second-in-command, but she'd been gunning for his position for _years_. With Craig's latest string of fuck-ups, Red obviously sensed her opportunity to take over. Red liked to play the sweet, empty-headed harlot, but Craig knew that was all just a facade. Lurking underneath all her coy smiles was a cold, deadly and focused center.

"Good morning, sexy." Red purred. When Craig simply glared at her, his pale blue eyes flinging icy daggers, she _tsked _and shook her head.

"What, I can't even get a simple, lousy hello?" Red whined, "After I stayed up all night _worrying _about you? You're a cold-hearted bitch, Craig."

_No, that would be you_. Craig highly doubted Red had been up all night. If she _had_, it was because she'd been eagerly waiting to hear that he'd died. Craig disregarded her and turned his attention to Mephesto, a small, wrinkled prune of a man in his early seventies. Mephesto had a penchant for tacky Hawaiian shirts, and he wore an old brown hat over his thin gray hair. He could easily have passed for someone's kindly old grandfather with his benign, harmless looks, but Doctor Mephesto was the furthest thing from kindly or harmless. Craig was standing before a dangerous madman, a selfish egotist who paraded around as a well-meaning philanthropist.

"Doctor. I wanted to apologize for last night's...events." Craig said tonelessly. "I have no excuse for what happened."

"There's no need to apologize, my boy," Mephesto sighed, "this has been a trying time for all of us."

_It's been an *annoying* time for me._ "If you give me another chance, I swear I will succeed in apprehending the target. There _won't _be any more mishaps."

"Seriously?" Red scoffed. "With all due respect, Doctor, Craig has _fucked up_ this mission every step of the way. First he let Leopold escape -"

"I did _not _let him escape," Craig said, his deep voice even and controlled.

"Really, now? Correct me if I'm wrong, but did he _not _escape on your shift?" Red replied waspishly.

"Yeah," Craig shrugged, "right out the back door that _you _were supposed to be watching. So tell me, where were you, Red?" Craig asked, staring her down unflinchingly, "Too busy giving blowjobs in the processing room?"

Red flushed with anger. "You son of a bitch -"

"If I'm at fault, then so are you."

"Like _hell _I am!"

"Stop this pointless in-fighting _immediately_!" Mephesto snapped, slapping a hand down on the desk. Craig lowered his head respectfully, while Red trembled with the effort of holding in her rage.

"Craig, I know you will succeed, my boy!" Mephesto said, and _God_, Craig _really _hated when he did that, tried to act like all _fatherly_, "There's a reason I named you head of security. You're the best tracker I have and your instincts are top-notch. Quite frankly, there's no better man for the job."

Red made a small noise of outrage, but held her tongue. Craig simply nodded. He had never been the type of person to accept praise humbly, because he already _knew _he was good at what he did. Maybe that made him arrogant, but Craig honestly didn't give a fuck.

"In fact," Mephesto continued mildly, "I'm _positive _of your satisfactory results, because Red is going to help you capture the boy."

Craig blinked. "What."

Red's reaction was a lot louder and more dramatic, "Oh, _fuck _no!"

"You are," Mephesto replied, shooting her a glance that shut her right up.

"Doctor." Craig said, shaking his head, "You know I work best alone."

"I am well aware. I'm also aware of the fact that you lost my most precious subject to a man wearing _tights _and a _cape_," Mephesto replied with mock-cheerfulness, "so having Red back you up could only improve your chances. She's going, and that's the last I want to hear from either of you on the matter."

Craig and Red exchanged a glance. She did _not _look happy about this, but then again, neither was he. _God-fucking-damn it. This just keeps getting better and better, _Craig thought, fuming on the inside while his expression remained calm and impassive on the outside. Truthfully, he had only himself to blame for this one. Craig had never given Doctor Mephesto any reason to doubt him, but losing Butters to a so-called _superhero_? Now that was just _embarrassing_. Craig briefly clenched his jaw, before he forced himself to relax. There was no use getting worked up over things that were out of his control. As distasteful as Red could be, she was not without her own special uses. Maybe if they worked together, they could finally put an end to this shit-show and Craig could move on with his life.

"Have we learned any other details concerning the manner of Leopold's escape?" Craig asked crisply, deciding then and there to get right down to business, "I think we can all agree that there's no way he could have accomplished this without help."

"There are fail-safes," Red added glumly, "even assuming the stuttering _brat _was able to slip out of his cage on his own, he would have had to punch in no less than three door codes to get outside of the facility, and there's absolutely no way he could have known what those were. Nobody saw him leave, either. Which leads me to believe he was either smuggled out, or -"

"Someone tampered with the video feed to give Leopold a clear shot to the door," Craig said. "I was manning the security station for most of the night, and saw nothing out of the ordinary. It was only after we discovered he was gone that I realized the cameras were on a loop."

"An inside job, for sure." Red said, grinning nastily. "Someone with intimate knowledge of this facility and access to the lab."

"It had to have been one of the researchers." Craig said, frowning thoughtfully. "Besides Red and myself, the rest of the security team has limited access to the…specimens. Someone hacked the cameras, then they released Leopold. As for the door codes, he or she would have had to either punch them in for him, or give them to Stotch so he could punch them in himself. There is also the fact that his tracking device was temporarily disabled to buy him some time. No one but a researcher would have known how to do that. But who, and why?"

Red's eyes glinted with mischievous cruelty. "Perhaps we need to have ourselves some interrogations, honey."

"Save your efforts. I already have a team working on discovering who helped my precious Butters escape." Mephesto said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Rest assured, when I discover who is responsible for this, I will deal with him or her _personally_. I want you two to focus on _finding_ him. What of his tracking device?"

"Deactivated," Craig replied unhappily, "Leopold must have figured out how to remove it himself, or someone removed it for him."

"Do you think it was this…" Mephesto's nose wrinkled in distaste. "Superhero?"

Craig shrugged. "I have no way of knowing for sure, but it seems likely."

"Who is he?" Mephesto demanded.

"The townsfolk call him _Mysterion_," Red answered, with a laugh and a toss of her coppery red hair, "he's a bit of a celebrity in South Park. A vigilante for justice and _quite _the playboy, I hear."

"A lunatic." Mephesto scoffed.

_Another classic case of the pot calling the kettle black._ "...Unfortunately, I have no idea who this man could be."

"Find out," Mephesto snapped, "use any means necessary. If he's hiding Butters, I want him _dealt _with."

Craig nodded. "What about the police?"

"What _about _them, my boy?"

"We no longer have the aid of a tracking device," Craig replied evenly, "as such, our search has just become a lot more difficult. If this..._Mysterion_ person is helping Leopold, then our attempts to recover him could potentially draw unwanted attention. The last thing I need to deal with right now is a bunch of redneck _cops _on top of everything else," Craig finished in a dry, cranky tone.

"Don't worry about the local law enforcement. They won't be a problem, I'll make sure of it." Mephesto replied, with a knowing smile.

"How?" Red asked dubiously.

"Mayor McDaniels and I have an agreement. As long as I keep pumping money into this wretched town through my organization and all my "charitable donations", I get to run my genetic engineering ranch unimpeded." Mephesto replied smugly. "All it takes is one phone call. Like I said, you don't have to worry about the South Park PD."

_So basically, you've bribed the mayor to hell and back. _Craig nodded. "Very well. Red and I will resume the search."

Mephesto inclined his head, smiling a little too broadly. "Good luck out there, my boy. When you find Butters, do be _gentle _with him! He is, after all, my most valuable discovery."

_Your most valuable discovery? Yeah right. He's just some poor kid you tortured and experimented on for almost a year, and I don't blame him one bit for running. If I were in Leopold's shoes, I would have done the same. _Craig nodded again and turned away without another word, trusting that Red would follow, but not really caring if she did one way or the other. Suddenly he wanted to get out of the same room as this twisted old man as soon as possible, but Mephesto called out to him just as Craig was reaching for the door.

"I have the utmost confidence in you, my boy." Mephesto said. "Should you fail, however, don't bother coming back."

Craig stiffened, his grip on the door handle tightening. He didn't turn around and he didn't say a word. Craig stepped out into the hall as quickly as his long legs could carry him, stubbornly ignoring Red's breathless attempt to catch up.

"Hey," Red snapped, "slow down!"

Craig kept going until he reached the elevator, mashing the call button with unnecessary force. Mephesto's words rang tauntingly in his ears, pissing him off. _Fuck you, you crazy bastard. What if I don't *want* to come back?_

The elevator arrived almost immediately, opening with a soft metallic swish. Craig slipped inside and Red bustled her way through, looking deeply annoyed.

"Well, this _sucks_." Red said as the doors closed, crossing her toned arms over her small bosom.

"I don't like this any more than you do," Craig replied in his deep monotone, "but if all you're going to do is complain, I'd appreciate it if you_ fucked off_ right now."

"Go to hell, you arrogant twat! _My _job is on the line here, too." Red grumbled. "After this mission we can go right back to hating each other, but for now I _suggest _we work together on this."

Red shuddered violently, and added, "Unless _you _want to end up as one of his experiments!"

Craig scowled as the elevator arrived at the first floor lobby. He waited the barest second for the doors to open, and then immediately headed outside. Red trailed after him, her high-heeled boots _click-clacking_ on the polished floor. Craig was such a tall bastard he took one step for every two she made, but Red didn't particularly mind. She got a _great _view of Craig's tight ass from back here, after all. Red smiled wickedly. Craig carried himself like a king amongst peasants, all straight clean lines and stoic confidence. He was so imposing he cut through crowds like a sharp knife through paper, leaving behind only the faint, spicy scent of his cologne. Craig Tucker wasn't winning any awards for being the most approachable guy in the world. He had the personality of a crotchety old man and a blunt, abrasive way of speaking, but he was so damned _handsome _Red couldn't help wondering what it would be like to take him to bed all the same. It was too bad Craig had never seemed interested in women...or men, for that matter.

Craig pushed through the lobby doors and breathed in the cold, fresh morning air. The snow had finally stopped, blanketing the town of South Park in a fresh layer of white, but it was obvious from the gray skies overhead that it wouldn't be long before it was snowing again. Red shivered and frowned as Craig reached into the pocket of his suit to withdraw a packet of cigarettes. It was perhaps his one and only unhealthy indulgence, and Craig sighed as he lifted the slim stick to his lips and inhaled smoke, let it calm his frazzled nerves. Red couldn't help watching in fascination as Craig's pale blue eyes closed briefly.

He really was a _gorgeous _man.

"Alright," Craig clipped, snapping his eyes open, "I agree. We should work together on this. Do you have any suggestions? What do you know about Mysterion?"

"Whoa, slow down tiger." Red laughed, feeling oddly pleased that Craig had asked for her opinion. "I don't know anything about Mysterion that half the town doesn't already know. He's South Park's self-appointed defender, but as far I can tell he's only ever prevented relatively minor crimes. He's been a thorn in the Police Chief's side for _years_. Nobody knows who he is or why he's doing this. Mysterion has something of a cult following on the internet -"

"Nerds." Craig said flatly.

"- but he's always been an _underground _celebrity, at best. There are lots of folks who are convinced it's all just a hoax."

"Hoax my _ass_." Craig snapped. "He took out eight of my guys last night."

Red cocked her head and regarded him curiously. "Haven't you ever heard of him before?"

"I never paid any attention." Craig replied simply. It was true. For such a small, sleepy, average, nowhere, pissant redneck mountain town, South Park had its fair share of colorful characters, and _then _some. Craig actively tried to avoid each and every one of them. He didn't need that kind of _nonsense _in his life. Craig already had enough bullshit to deal with.

"Fair enough," Red said mildly, "I suppose we need to figure out how we're going to track Mysterion down, then. I just hope the brat is still with him."

Craig hesitated for a moment, and then said slowly, "...There was a man with him."

"A man?"

"Yes," Craig said, thinking back to last night, "he was slightly above average height, very skinny, with platinum-blonde hair and dark green eyes. He appeared to be working with Mysterion, and was in possession of two 9mm handguns." Craig scowled suddenly, exhaling a thin plume of smoke.

"I've never seen anyone shoot like that." Craig said, sounding both irritable and impressed. "He was fast and his aim was perfect."

_If I hadn't been wearing that bulletproof vest, he would have killed me. Fucker. _

Red looked extremely amused. "Anything else?"

"His hair was wild and unkempt. He was wearing Power Rangers pajamas." Craig paused and thought some more. "He had scars on his chest. Burns, I think."

"_Fascinating_. Can you recall any other details, hm? Did he make you feel all _fluttery _inside?" Red leaned forward conspiratorially. "Do you see his face every time you close your eyes?"

"No." Craig snapped, quickly becoming annoyed with Red's sly smile. "For all the damage he caused, Mysterion did not actually seem to be trying to _kill _anyone. This man, however, had no such reservations. If we run into him again, _I _will take care of him." _Payback is a bitch, asshole. _

Craig did _not _appreciate near-brushes with death.

"Fine by me, tiger! Never let it be said that I stood in the way of true love," Red replied, thoroughly enjoying the icy look Craig shot her. "So what are you planning to do, honey?"

"I'm going to turn over every rock in this piss-pot of a town until I find him."

"God, that's _so _boring," Red replied, rolling her eyes. "Do you have _any _imagination at all?"

"If you have a better idea, I'm all ears. If not, shut up."

"I _do _have a better idea, as a matter of fact," Red cooed, grinning. "It occurs to me that whoever this Mysterion is, he must have a raging hard-on for protecting this town and the people in it."

"So." Craig had a bad habit of not framing his questions with the proper inflection that actually _made _them questions.

"_So_, if we want to catch Mysterion, we have to give him something to _protect_." Red said, winking at Craig's blank expression. "You and I are going to create a situation he can't possibly ignore, and when he comes running to play the daring superhero, we're going to capture him." Red laughed. "It's as simple as that, honey. Now, aren't you glad Doctor Mephesto made me tag along?"

Craig glared at her for a moment...but he had to admit, it was a pretty good idea. He tossed his cigarette down in the snow.

"Let's go."

* * *

Kenny took a quick shower and dressed in his work clothes.

He had forgotten to pack his toothbrush, so he used Bebe's, regretfully obliterating all traces of the sweet taste of her. Kenny stole a quick glance at himself in her bathroom mirror and decided he didn't look too bad for a guy who had been up all night dodging bullets. There were bags under his dark blue eyes, but the puffiness wasn't especially noticeable. _Not unless someone gets close. _

Kenny ran his hands tiredly back through his long blonde locks. He'd stayed up until the wee hours of the morning getting Bebe all caught up with the situation, but talk of Tweak and Butters and their high-speed flight through the streets of South Park had somehow segued into talk of what Bebe had been doing since the last time he'd seen her, and how much she had missed him. After that, one thing led to another until the next thing Kenny knew, he was in her arms.

Being with her again had been comforting, but then again, it always was. Bebe was plush and warm, and her touch had a _soothing _effect on him. All in all, it had been a pleasant end to an extremely stressful night, but Kenny sort of wished it hadn't happened. He'd only gotten two full hours of sleep and all the exertion he'd put his body through had manifested as a definite soreness in his muscles. But besides that, Kenny had promised himself that he wouldn't go getting Bebe's hopes up any more, and he'd gone and broken his promise. _Again_.

Kenny sighed and left the bathroom, easing into Bebe's bedroom as quietly as possible. She was deeply asleep, her glorious body wrapped up in a sheet. Kenny wasn't the only one who had been up all night. Like him, Bebe was a night owl who kept late hours even when she wasn't dancing at that sleazy club. She probably had to work tonight, come to think of it, so Kenny was glad to see her getting some rest. He knelt down beside the bed and pressed a kiss to her brow, smoothing back her soft ringlets.

"Sweet dreams, beautiful," Kenny murmured, before he climbed to his feet and crept silently out of her room, closing the door behind him.

Kenny knew Bebe was in love with him. He wasn't as dense as Tweak thought he was. Kenny simply couldn't return her feelings no matter how many times he'd tried, holding Bebe in his arms in the darkness, wondering what it would be like to have a normal life. He _did _love her, but it was a mild kind of love. Bebe deserved someone who would devote himself to her completely, someone who would support her and provide an unshakable sense of stability. Kenny couldn't do _any _of those things. He _cared _for her, but he didn't want to _be _with her. Kenny didn't want to be with _anyone_. He just couldn't deal with actual relationships or the monogamy and responsibility that went along with them.

Kenny thought he heard Bebe whisper _I love you _when she orgasmed last night. Ugh...he really didn't need this added complication. He had avoided seeing her almost a year, hoping that she would realize he wasn't worth attaching herself to. That hadn't worked at all. Having an honest, adult conversation about it would have been the _mature _thing to do, but...

Kenny wasn't exactly known for his maturity.

_I shouldn't have imposed on her. As soon as Tweak wakes up, we'll figure out somewhere else to go. _

Bebe would probably be hurt, but it would be better for all of them if he didn't stick around.

_Better for her, or better for you?_ A mocking voice asked somewhere deep inside, but Kenny shoved that thought under a mental rug and headed downstairs to Bebe's living room, where curiosity made him turn on the TV. He flipped through the channels until he found the local news station, and watched incredulously as a familiar fat-assed face gave a live report.

"The peaceful town of South Park was rocked by a sudden explosion of violence last night," Eric Cartman intoned solemnly, as the camera panned out on the charred remains of the abandoned theater - Mysterion's _former _secret base - surrounded by police tape. "Civilians reported hearing gunfire in the early morning hours, followed by a high-speed chase between two unknown perpetrators. Police believe the disturbance all started right hyah, but no one seems to know how or why. Several bodies were discovered, but so far, the police have been unable to make any positive identifications."

Kenny shook his head. Watching Eric Cartman act like he had some manners never ceased to amaze him. There was a quick cut back to Gary Harrison in the newsroom, looking mildly concerned.

"Thank you Eric." Gary said calmly, looking like perfection personified in his nice gray suit. "Do the police have any leads in this troubling case?"

"No, Gary, no they don't." Cartman replied, shaking his head with mock-sadness. "But I think we can all agree, the recent rise of gun violence in our fair town can only have one cause - Mayor McDaniels' new illegal immigration bill."

Another quick cut back to Gary in the newsroom. Kenny had to admit, Gary was good at not freaking out on camera, but he couldn't help but notice that the man had gone from looking _mildly _concerned to _very _concerned. "Err...how so, Eric?"

"Oh, I'll _tell _you, Gary." Cartman said, smiling. "McDaniels has made her soft stance on illegals no secret. But as you and I both know, _those people _bring guns and lower property values everywhere they go. McDaniels let them in, and now look what we have hyah. Bloody rampages in the streets! Think of the _children_, Gary. Where does it end?"

Eric Cartman lowered his head, as if he were suddenly overcome with emotion. Then he looked straight into the camera and said passionately, "The illegals are taking over our town and I don't know when it will end. Eric Cartman, reporting live."

"...Thank you, Eric." Gary said back in the newsroom, looking both weary and mortified. "So, how about we go to the weather -"

Kenny turned off the TV, shaking his head._ Jesus Christ. _He couldn't help wondering where Wendy was. She was the one who usually did all the live reports while Cartman manned the newsroom with Gary, precisely because whenever Cartman did a report he figured out some way to spin the whole thing into hateful propaganda. Kenny supposed he'd find out once he got to work. By night he was Mysterion, a dark warrior for justice, but by day...well…

By day he was simply Kenny McCormick, a lowly janitor for the _South Park Gazette,_ the town's premier independent newspaper and reporting agency.

Kenny had been expecting to see Tweak sprawled out on Bebe's couch, but he wasn't there. Tweak must have shared the spare bedroom with Butters, then. Kenny strode down the hall and opened the door to the guest room as silently as possible, peering inside. Both of the room's occupants were asleep. Kenny slipped in, his movements quiet and controlled with long years of practice. He checked on Butters first, drawn by concern and a curiosity for another person that he'd never really felt before.

Butters was bundled up tight. Kenny crouched down so he could gently pull the covers away from the boy's face and studied him carefully. The ugly bruises that had marred his fair skin had already mostly faded away. Butters looked peaceful and utterly _adorable _lying there, his fuzzy honey-blonde hair sticking up in all directions. The kid had been so _fearless _last night, never once complaining. Just who _was _Butters, though, and why did those people want him so badly? How did he acquire such an amazing ability?_ Butters didn't seem all that enthusiastic about it…_

Then again, Kenny was willing to bet that Butters's abilities and Craig Tucker's persistent attempt to capture him last night went hand-in-hand. Kenny smoothed Butters's hair away from his face, his touch light. He so was smallish Kenny couldn't help thinking of him as a _kid_, but Butters was a young man, really. He'd said his name was_ Leopold Stotch_ just before he passed out. Leopold...it was a _nice _name, if a little formal and old-fashioned, Kenny thought. Somehow, he vastly preferred thinking of the kid simply as Butters. _Or Buttercup. But he doesn't like that as much. _

Kenny leaned in and kissed Butters on the brow. His skin was warm and dry under his lips. Suddenly it just felt like the _right thing_ to do, but Kenny couldn't help wondering why he bothered, why he found the damn kid so fascinating…

_Stop thinking, Kenny. You'll just hurt yourself, and this isn't what you came in here for. _

Right. Kenny stood up and walked around the bed to look down at Tweak. His partner had made a bed for himself out of Bebe's spare blankets and was sprawled on his back, snoring softly. Kenny shook his head affectionately. It was nice to see the twitchy, paranoid, excitable bastard in a moment of stillness for once. Mysterion had always preferred to be a lone crusader, but Kenny honestly didn't know what he would have done without the guy. _You saved my life, you crazy bum. Why the low self-esteem?_

But Kenny knew why. He sighed and decided to save his conversation with Tweak for later. The guy already had problems getting enough sleep as it is. Kenny bent down and kissed Tweak lightly on the brow too, because _fuck _it, why not? He'd already kissed Bebe and Butters so he might as well complete the set before he left for work, but no sooner had Kenny pulled away then he heard a soft _click! _and found himself staring down the barrel of a 9mm.

_Crap. _

Kenny froze, and watched as Tweak's vivid green eyes narrowed and then focused up at him. When Tweak saw it was just him, he relaxed and lowered his gun, running his free hand wearily over his face.

"Jesus, man!" Tweak muttered, sitting up, "You know better than that! What if I'd fucking _shot _you?"

"It's fine. I know you always look first," Kenny teased, but Tweak was clearly unamused. The skinny blonde glared at him, tucking his 9mm securely back into a fold of his makeshift bed. Then he flopped back down and pulled his cover halfway up over his face, so that only his eyes and the top of his crazy hair could be seen.

"Look first my _ass_," Tweak said, his voice muffled, "if you wake me up like that again I really _will _shoot you, man. What the _hell _were you doing, anyway? Were you trying to give me a _goodbye _kiss?"

It was obvious from the sneer in Tweak's voice he didn't know that was exactly what Kenny had been doing. Kenny smiled innocently. "I already did."

Tweak glared at him again. His dark green eyes seemed to say,_ I don't know if you're playing with me or not, but I'm *really* not in the mood for this._ Kenny just continued to smile at him innocently, until Tweak finally let out an aggravated sigh.

"I don't believe you." Tweak said glumly.

"I know you don't, handsome." Kenny replied seductively.

"Jesus, man, what do you _want_? I'm about two seconds away from getting up and kicking your _ass_!" Tweak snapped, and Kenny couldn't help laughing because his partner was usually never this rude. But was early, Tweak was chronically sleep deprived, and he hadn't had the ten or so cups of coffee he needed to fight the effects of the deprivation. Kenny actually kind of liked seeing Tweak like this, all blunt and mildly threatening, but he decided it was probably in his best interests not to push it.

Tweak _could _kick his ass, after all. Or at least, give him one hell of a run for his money.

"I'm sorry I woke you up," Kenny said sincerely, "I wanted to get your opinion on our next move, but it can wait until later, dude."

"Damn right it can," Tweak mumbled, closing his eyes. "Are you really going to work? How many hours of sleep did you get, man?"

"Enough," Kenny lied, "and yeah, I'm going. I don't really have a choice. I kind of _need _this job, you know."

"Sucks, man. You're just another cog in the corporate machine." Tweak replied, cracking an eye open. "You should do what I do and freelance."

"Not everyone can be a hacker for a living." Kenny said dryly.

"Hey! I'm not _just _a hacker," Tweak protested sleepily, "I do web design, too."

"Whatever, dude," Kenny laughed, straightening up, "Fair warning, I don't think Bebe likes coffee. So if you want your fix, you're going to have to go to Starbucks or something."

Tweak shot up, looking absolutely horrified. "Oh _God_, you kidding me?!"

"Sorry, dude." Kenny shrugged.

Tweak bit his lip, fidgeting anxiously. "Um...can't you just -"

"Nope," Kenny said firmly, already knowing what Tweak was going to ask. "I don't have time to get your coffee, dude. You're just going to have to put on some clothes and go _outside_. It's not going to hurt you."

"You don't know that." Tweak muttered darkly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Ngghh...fine."

"Look, dude, if you're really that freaked out about it, just ask Bebe to stop by the store when she wakes up," Kenny suggested, "I'm sure she won't mind." The look Tweak gave him was curious. It was an expression that was partly annoyed, partly hopeless and partly disbelieving. Kenny didn't like it.

"Are you _serious_, man? No fucking _way_! She'll just l-look at me like I'm some kind of..." Tweak drifted off, flushing with shame under Kenny's patient look.

"Just _forget _it, I'll do it. Jesus..." Tweak grumbled, crossing his skinny arms.

"Okay, Tweak." Kenny replied, eyeing his partner searchingly. "Look, I have to go. We'll talk later, dude. Keep an eye on Buttercup."

"Yeah." Tweak said, sighing. "Peace-out girl scout."

* * *

Clyde was trying very, _very _hard not to cry. Which was kind of hard, considering that Token Black had been _yelling _at him for almost half an hour.

Clyde sat in the hard chair across from the police chief's desk with his shoulders hunched and his head down, his throat tight with unshed tears. Every once in a while he would let out a sniffle, but he managed to bear the tongue-lashing like a _big boy_, and Clyde couldn't help feeling a little proud of himself. That is, until Token finally stopped yelling.

The sudden silence was deafening and deeply uncomfortable. Clyde swallowed and peeked up at the man, watching as Token took a deep, calming breath, before he clasped his hands together and closed his eyes. The police chief looked like he was taking a nice power nap, but Clyde could tell from the tightness in his jaw that Token was struggling not to leap across the desk and _throttle _him with his bare hands. The pathetic report Clyde had written documenting last night's incident with Mysterion lay on the desk between them, slightly crumpled from Token's rage. Clyde licked his lips, trying to think of something to say, but he couldn't seem to come up with a single thing that wouldn't result in him getting fired and/or punched in the mouth, and he'd had _enough _abuse for one day, thank you very much! So Clyde just kept silent, fearfully studying the well-built, aristocratic lines of Token's face, and when that got boring he looked around the office, observing all the medals and plaques of outstanding achievement of the walls.

Minutes passed. Clyde shifted in his seat anxiously, wincing at the farting noises the leather chair made. Normally any kind of gas probably _would _be coming from him, especially after Taco Bell put those delicious little bean burritos on their 99¢ menu, but this time it was _totally _the chair. Token didn't acknowledge the suspicious sounds and he didn't look up, however. Clyde shifted again, but it was as if his sheer stupidity had transported Token's consciousness to another plane of existence, leaving only his body behind. Clyde frowned. The silence was _really _starting to freak him out and if Token was going to fire him or give him traffic duty, he kind of wished the guy would just do it already.

"Chief…" Clyde began, finally mustering up his courage, but Token snapped his big brown eyes open the moment he heard Clyde's voice and stared at him flatly.

"Be quiet." Token said, slowly unclasping his hands. Clyde flushed and closed his mouth as Token gave him a look filled with weary disappointment. The shiny gold police badge attached to Token's navy blue suit glimmered in the overhead lights of his office. Clyde was suddenly convinced he was about to be fired, and the thought filled him with panic.

"Please," Clyde pleaded, forgetting that Token had just told him to be quiet, "_please_, Chief! Give me another chance!"

"I've already given you a dozen chances, Donovan." Token said, shaking his head. "There aren't that many chances in the world. Either you are cut out to be a police officer or you're not. And I'm really starting that think that you're not."

"But I _aammm_!" Clyde shouted. He was trying hard to sound forceful and convincing, but whenever Clyde was this upset he just came off sounding whiny. His hands were shaking and his eyes were stinging, "I've wanted to be a cop ever since I was _kiiddd_!"

"Why?" Token asked sharply, "So you can ride around pretending to be John McClane? I don't care how many Hollywood flicks you've seen, Donovan. Being a police officer is nothing like the movies. This is a difficult, demanding and dangerous job. It takes real _dedication_ to do what we do. Quite frankly, I'm not sure how you made it through the academy, much less lasted a whole six months on the force. I'm sorry, Donovan, but you're just not ready for this."

"_Screw_ you!" Clyde snarled. The words flew right out of his mouth before he could stop them or think about what he was saying. Clyde slapped his palms down on the desk, ignoring Token's arched brow.

"People have always thought I was never going to amount to anything, but all I've ever wanted to do is be a cop!" Clyde cried passionately. "I want to help people, catch criminals and make this town a safer place, _okay_?! I worked _hard _at it, harder than I've ever worked on anything in my _life_! I _know _I can do this, but how the fuck am I supposed to prove myself working graveyard shifts by myself, huh? You've set me up to fail before I could even really get started, and now you're going to _fire _me over something like this? You _know _that's not fair, Chief!"

Clyde was breathing hard by the time he finished his rant, the tears he'd been struggling to hold back finally slipping down his flushed cheeks. He wiped them away angrily and plopped back in his seat, as Token stared at him with an unreadable expression._ Great, just fucking great. Now I'm going to be fired for sure. _

"I'm not going to fire you," Token sighed.

_Huh?_

"I'm giving you a partner," the police chief continued, watching as Clyde's expression went from misery to shock. "You're right. I haven't really given you a chance to show what you can do, but you have to own up to your own mistakes, Donovan. This _isn't _a game."

_A...partner?_ Clyde gulped, nodding gratefully. "I totally understand, dude. Uh, I mean, Chief. I know I've screwed up in the past, but I _am _ready for this."

"We'll see." Token replied cryptically, picking up the phone on his desk and quick-dialing his secretary. "Perhaps I have been a little hard on you, but this _really _is your last chance. Screw up again and you can leave your badge at the door."

Clyde nodded again, his head spinning. He was going to be getting a _partner_. Who?

"Can you tell Stan Marsh to report to my office, please?" Token asked his secretary politely. "Thanks."

Well. Stan Marsh, apparently.

Clyde's hazel eyes widened at the name. Unlike Clyde, Stan was a damn _super cop. _He was tall, athletic, _unfairly _handsome and highly ambitious. Clyde had always thought Stan was a bit of a _douchebag_, personally, but perhaps that sentiment stemmed from jealousy on his part. Why the hell was Token pairing a screw-up like him with an otherwise good cop like Stan, though? A few moments later Stan walked in, shooting Clyde a wary glance before nodding respectfully at Token.

"Sir. You called me?" Stan asked.

"I did. Have a seat, Marsh." Token said, indicating the chair next to Clyde. Clyde couldn't help noticing the slight grimace on Stan's face as he sat down, scooting his chair away as if Clyde was a human-shaped bag of dog poop. _Act high and mighty all you want asshole, we're partners now, _Clyde thought smugly. _Surprise! _

"Stan," Token said without preamble, "I'm assigning you and Donovan to work together until further notice."

The look on Stan's face was _priceless_. He stared at Clyde, his cornflower-blue eyes filled with horror, before whirling around to give Token the same horrified look.

"Chief, you're _joking_." Stan said, shaking his head.

"I'm not." Token deadpanned.

"The hell!" Stan cried, frowning darkly. "Why are you partnering me with this _retard_? He can't tell his dick from a _flashlight_!"

"Not according to your _Mom_," Clyde replied smugly, "I used both on her last night."

Stan's face contorted with rage, but before he could spit out a reply, Token reached inside his desk and slapped a stack of papers down.

"You want to know why I'm partnering you with Clyde?" Token demanded, sounding angry, "_This_ is why!"

Clyde stared curiously at the papers._ Application for Detective_ jumped out at him immediately, along with Stan's name. _Whoa!_ Clyde sat back and looked at Stan incredulously, while Marsh flushed and drooped a little in his chair.

"What the hell is this supposed to be, Marsh?" Token demanded, jabbing at the application, "You've been a cop for less than a year and you think you can waltz in and make _Detective_? That's _not _how this works! There are guys out there who have been doing this for _years_, and you think just because you have a few _arrests _under your belt and a hot-shot attitude that you can do what they do?"

_Jesus-fucking-tacos, _Clyde thought, _I want to be a Detective too, but even *I* know better than to apply after less than a year._

Token pawed through his desk until he found a bright red pen and wrote APPLICATION DENIED right through Stan's name. Douchebag or no, Clyde couldn't help feeling sorry for the guy.

"Aw-_awww_!" Stan groaned. "Dude…"

"You're reckless," Token said, pointing at Stan, "and _he's _irresponsible. I'm partnering you together in the hopes that you both can learn something. Now _get out_, both of you."

Stan and Clyde had no choice but to do as they were told, slinking out of Token's office with their tails between their legs.

Clyde could _feel_ Stan Marsh's fury. The guy was so pissed Clyde was surprised he didn't see steam coming out of his ears. Clyde regarded him warily.

"Bummer," he said, grinning when Stan turned and leveled him with an infuriated stare. "Welp, looks like we're going to be rolling deep for a while! I don't know about you, dude, but I could _totally _use a crunchy-wrap to lift my spirits."

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

* * *

Kenny could hear yelling from outside the building.

He put on his headphones and headed inside, but left off the thumping classic rock that would get him through his eight hour shift. Nobody ever paid the janitor any attention, and with his drab overalls, ratty baseball cap, beat-up sneakers and old headphones the men and women of the South Park Gazette paid him even less. Which was perfect, because that meant he heard _everything_. Kenny gathered up his cleaning cart and the trash bin and headed for the source of the disturbance, the newsroom. The cameramen had left for the day following the morning broadcast, leaving only Gary, Wendy, Cartman, and the Gazette's manager/editor-in-chief, Herbert Garrison.

Wendy was _livid_. Kenny eased the cleaning cart off to one side and began sweeping the floor, watching the scene unfold surreptitiously. Cartman was standing beside the newsdesk looking _extremely _bored, while Wendy stood before him with her hands on her hips. Her eyes were shooting _fire_, but Kenny couldn't help noticing (and appreciating) the way her professional white blouse and black pencil skirt hugged her in _all _the right places. Gary was on the other side of the room, rifling through a filing cabinet trying to pretend he wasn't listening, while Herbert Garrison, a man who was already gray and balding in his early forties, sat behind the newsdesk nonchalantly turning the pages of a Vogue magazine.

"You sabotaged my news van," Wendy hissed, narrowing her eyes at Cartman. "You had _no fucking right_ to do that report!"

"You have no fucking right to go around making baseless accusations, hoe." Cartman replied calmly, smirking at Wendy's expression. "You were unprepared, and, let's face it, _unprofessional_. If you can't handle a little competition, get your ass back in the kitchen."

"You fat, slimy, sexist son of a _bitch_!"

"Whoa, um, Mr. Garrison, are you hearing this?" Cartman said, glancing down at Herbert. "This woman is _clearly _out of control."

"Ooo, this is nice…" Herbert said, peering down at his magazine. He wasn't paying Cartman or Wendy the slightest bit of attention, and after a moment, realizing that he wouldn't get any backup from either of his coworkers, Cartman turned back to Wendy and scowled.

"Calm your tits, _bitch_, I can do all the reports I want!" Cartman shouted. "Respect my fucking authoritah!"

"If you sabotage my news van again, I'm going to stick my foot so far up your _fat ass_ you'll be tasting your own bullshit for a week!" Wendy roared back.

Kenny slowly shook his head, listening to Cartman and Wendy trade vicious insults and threats. It seemed like not a day went by when they weren't at each other's throats. Kenny honestly didn't know how they hadn't killed each other yet - or rather - how _Wendy _hadn't killed _Cartman _yet, because despite all his verbal abuse it was obvious he had a little thing for her. Their relationship was filled with the most _awkwardly _one-sided sexual tension Kenny had ever seen. Wendy really seemed to despise Cartman, and Kenny couldn't blame her. Cartman was a fat, intolerant, manipulative, sexist _asshole_. He wouldn't know basic human decency if it came up and shit on his face. Whether Cartman actually _liked _Wendy or simply wanted to get in her panties was up for debate, but he was such a raging douchebag he repulsed her time and time again.

Which was exactly why Kenny had accepted a bet with Mr. Garrison about it. One day after work, standing out on the terrace bumming a cigarette from the man, Kenny had casually brought up the topic. Mr. Garrison said it would never happen and Kenny said it would, but Mr. Garrison had been so sure of himself he'd promised to pay Kenny five hundred dollars if Cartman and Wendy ever hooked up. If he lost, he got nothing. If he won, he was five Benjamins richer.

Terrible? Yes. Potentially lucrative? _Very_.

"Oh God damn it, would you two shut the hell up?" Herbert said, after almost twenty more minutes of arguing. "I'd rather watch a sex tape starring Rosie O'Donnell than listen to you two go at it."

"It's not my fault this bitch is crazy!" Cartman insisted. Wendy flushed with color, then grabbed Cartman by his tie and yanked him close, cutting off his air.

"Fuck with me again and I will make you _pay._" Wendy promised, her dripping venom. She gave Cartman's tie another hard yank and watched him struggle with a satisfied smile on her face, when but the jerk began to turn purple Mr. Garrison rolled his eyes.

"I'm not helping anyone dispose of any bodies, just so you know," he said, going back to his magazine.

Wendy released Cartman, spun on her heel and stormed off, leaving Eric choking and gasping. She walked right past Kenny without ever knowing he was there, but then again, she always did. Kenny watched her go under the brim of his baseball cap, admiring the subtle sway of her hips, the way her long black hair just brushed the top of her perfect ass. He had often wondered what she would think if she knew Mysterion and the lowly janitor who worked at the Gazette were one in the same, but he'd decided it was _much _more fun this way. Kenny subtly inhaled the floral scent of the perfume Wendy left in her wake. She looked damn good in clothes, but even better in nothing at all...Mmm…

Kenny smiled. Perhaps Mysterion ought to pay another visit…

Kenny felt something hit him square in the chest, and winced as the scalding liquid splattered all over his clothes and the floor. Immediately he was assaulted by the smell of coffee, and turned to see Cartman standing there, glaring at him with disdain in his dark brown eyes.

"Clean this place up, you poor piece of shit!" Cartman snapped, before he, too, stormed out of the newsroom, muttering curses under his breath.

Kenny stared at the mess Cartman had made, his overalls now soaked. He felt a well-justified urge to grab Cartman by the collar and beat his fat ass to within an inch of his life, but then he'd be _fired_, and he still needed this job. Kenny clenched his teeth, trembling with rage.

"You fucking asshole," he snarled.

"Sorry about that," Gary Harrison said, appearing out of nowhere with paper towels in his hand. Kenny accepted them stiffly, even though it was kind of moot at this point.

"Thanks." Kenny muttered.

Gary smiled. "Hey, why don't we go have a drink some time? My treat."

Kenny nodded with the same stiffness with which he'd accepted the paper towels. Gary took his leave. There was nothing intrinsically wrong with Gary Harrison. He was actually a _really _nice guy, but his cheerful attitude and outward perfection really rubbed Kenny the wrong way.

"Fuck you, Gary." Kenny muttered darkly, viciously grabbing a mop.

Mr. Garrison shook his head. "A real boy scout, that one. I wonder how many times _he's _taken it up the ass."

"Heh." Kenny actually kind of liked Mr. Garrison.

Kenny cleaned up the mess, and then sighed, checking his watch. He'd only been here for...forty minutes. Another seven hours and twenty minutes to go.

Just another cog in the corporate machine.

* * *

Kyle Broflovski removed his lab coat, his goggles and his sterile surgical gloves, washed his hands, and headed for the researcher's break room.

He wasn't particularly hungry, but he needed something to take his insulin medication with. Kyle swiped his keycard and headed tiredly inside, nodding politely to the lone female researcher sitting at a table checking her phone. He made a beeline for the cold, freshly-prepared snacks and grabbed a yogurt parfait. The researcher's break room was quite nice, filled with not only standard vending machines, but sandwiches, salads and fruit cups delivered twice-daily. When Kyle first graduated from the University of Denver and got hired as a researcher for the South Park Genetic Engineering Ranch, he used to think it was _so _cool. He could still hear his mother's nasally voice in his head, bragging to anyone who would listen that her son was a _scientist_, working for an _exclusive private laboratory_, doing much better than any of her friends' sons.

Kyle had been embarrassed by his mother's obnoxious fluffing, but also a little proud, too. Sheila Broflovski had pushed both of her sons hard growing up, but she'd been _especially _tough on Kyle, and now it finally seemed as if all the AP classes, stress, lack of sleep and zero social life had paid off. As far as Sheila was concerned, all Kyle needed now was to find a nice Jewish girl and get married.

Kyle rolled his eyes at the thought.

He grabbed a plastic spoon and popped the tab off of his parfait, scooping up yogurt and granola disinterestedly. He used to think this place was cool, and that he was awfully lucky to be so young working in such a rewarding field...but now, all Kyle wanted to do was leave it all behind.

He'd become a researcher hoping to find a cure for cancer, not to stain his hands with blood.

Kyle didn't notice the female researcher staring at him until she spoke.

"Broflovski, isn't it?" She said. Kyle glanced her, struggling not to let his displeasure show up on his face. Can't a man have _one _damn moment to himself?

"Yes." Kyle snapped, immediately going back to his parfait. He hoped she would get the hint.

She didn't. "Have you heard about Number Seventy-Five?"

_Number Seventy-Five. Leopold Alec Stotch, otherwise known as Butters. Male, eighteen years of age. Ability to heal rapidly and with greater finality from injuries; ability to heal others to varying degrees. Immunity to poison not fully tested; was given a small dose of toxin and recovered after his immune system adapted to the foreign substance. Planned to give him a larger dose. Ability to regrow limbs not tested. Planned to cut off his pinky toes. Broken bones tested...stab wounds tested...burns tested...tested...tested…_

"Hey!" The female researcher said good-naturedly. "Did you hear what I said?"

Kyle blinked. "Huh? Oh...sorry," he muttered. "What were you saying?"

"I _said_, Doctor Mephesto believes a researcher helped Number Seventy-Five escape," the woman repeated, "and he's _not _pleased, to say the least. I heard he has Bill Allen and Fosse McDonald looking into the situation." The female researcher shuddered. "He must really be upset if he'd use _those _two loons."

Kyle felt cold. "I...see."

"I heard Mephesto plans to deal with the researcher who helped Seventy-Five _personally_," the woman said, going back to her phone, completely oblivious to Kyle's pale, bland expression. "I mean, who would be _dumb _enough to do something like that anyway? If you ask me, they deserve everything they get."

"Yeah. I totally agree," Kyle replied, standing up on legs that suddenly felt weak and rubbery as overcooked noodles. He threw his parfait away, even though he'd only taken a few bites, and headed for the door. "Well...see you in the lab."

"Hmm," the woman replied, looking up with a smile. "Yeah, you too."

Kyle stepped outside and took a moment to take a few deep breaths. Then he put his lab coat back on, trying to keep his hands from shaking.

* * *

Tweak waited until Bebe went to work before he crept out of the guest room, and it was a good thing she left when she did, because he really, _really _needed to pee.

He sighed as he stepped out of the bathroom, wiping his clean, soap smelling hands on his jeans. Tweak was dressed in the black hoodie and old sneakers he had put on this morning when he'd reluctantly left the house. He walked six blocks in the snow to get his coffee, which hadn't been pleasant, but he'd desperately needed his fix. Tweak had been expecting to feel miserable the entire time, but the air had been so cold and fresh and _enjoyable _he found himself wanting to stay out a little longer. _Maybe I should stop by McDonalds. They're the epitome of a capitalist monster, but damn, do they have good french fries! _

The stares he got quickly made Tweak change his mind. He paid for his coffee and practically ran back to Bebe's house, trying not to freak out. Once he was safely back in the guest room with Butters, a fresh cup of coffee in his hands (and more on the way!) he'd felt much better, man, but he couldn't help feeling just a little bit regretful as well. Maybe...maybe _no one_ had been staring at him. Tweak got up and looked longingly out the window, cradling his borrowed mug in palms. Maybe he'd let his paranoia get to him (again), but the itchy feeling Tweak always got whenever he thought he was being watched wasn't there anymore, so who knows? _It really was nice outside, though…_

Tweak spent most of the day on his computer, watching Butters and avoiding Bebe. He heard her moving around more than once and had been terrified that she would stick her head in, but she never did. Perhaps she thought he was still asleep. Tweak knew Bebe was a kind person, beautiful both inside and out, but she had only the _barest _tolerance for him. Bebe thought he was an annoying, paranoid, insane _creep _who had possibly murdered his own parents and burned down their coffee shop to hide the evidence. So okay, maybe the first three things were true, but that last one _definitely _wasn't. Bebe was polite to him, but it was a _cold _kind of politeness. If it weren't for Kenny running interference Bebe would have tossed him out on his ass. Tweak ran his fingers through his platinum-blonde hair, a sad expression on his face. It was one thing to feel the stares of anonymous nobodies, but it was quite another to have all that judgement and hostility staring you right in the face, all from a pair of pretty pale green eyes.

Ugh, whatever man.

Tweak settled down on one of Bebe's couches, snacking on an apple, his laptop balanced on one knee. He was just about to sync up some music and get back to work when Kenny suddenly walked in, a gust of freezing-cold air blowing in with him. Tweak stared at his friend, his brows raised. Kenny looked tired and _irritable_, and there were some questionable stains on his faded overalls. He had a big bag of KFC with him, though, and Kenny smiled at Tweak as he set the chicken down on the counter, kicked off his boots and drifted over to the couch.

"Rough day getting fucked by The Man?" Tweak asked casually, taking another bite out of his apple.

"Yeah," Kenny answered grouchily.

To Tweak's surprise, Kenny dropped down on the couch _right next to him_ and rested his head on Tweak's shoulder. Tweak jerked a little, startled by the contact. It wasn't unpleasant or unwanted or anything like that, it was just...it had been _so long _since anyone had voluntarily gotten close to him. Kenny yawned and sighed wearily, completely unaware of his partner's wide emerald eyes and disbelieving expression. After a second or two, Tweak relaxed. It was just Kenny, after all, his best and _only _friend in the whole wide world. Tweak could feel the warmth seeping from Kenny's body all along his side. Gosh, man...it was such a _nice _sensation.

Still, Tweak wouldn't be _Tweak _if he didn't complain.

"Jesus, man, personal space much?" Tweak said, shifting his laptop to an arm of the couch. Kenny smelled kind of good, actually, like… "And why the hell do you smell like a cheap Folgers brand?"

Kenny snorted. "Don't ask, dude. How's Butters? He wake up yet?"

"Nah," Tweak replied. "Still asleep. Going on fourteen hours now. Kid must have been exhausted."

"Hmm," Kenny murmured thoughtfully, thinking of the bruises Butters had been covered with. "Dig up any information on him?"

"Aw jeeze, man, how did you know I would look? I wanted to surprise you with the wealth of my knowledge!"

"I _know _you, dude. So?"

"Not much," Tweak admitted, "Leopold Alec Stotch, born September 11th to Mr. and Mrs. Stephen and Linda Stotch in Honolulu, Hawaii."

"Hawaii?" Kenny murmured, somehow amused by that. "And?"

"Nothing. Just a birth certificate. No school records, medical records...fuck, man, I can't even pin down a single permanent address. It's like someone paid to wipe this kid clean off the face of the Earth."

"Fuck," Kenny muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "The _hell _is up with this kid?"

"Beats me, man," Tweak replied, shrugging with the one shoulder that currently _didn't _have someone's head on it. "This is some shady, _government cover-up_ shit! I guess we won't really know anything until the kid wakes up. In the meantime, man, what are _we _gonna do?"

"I don't know," Kenny replied. Tweak could hear the tiredness in his voice. "What we always do, I guess."

"By a wing a prayer! Caaannn dooo!" Tweak chirped cheerfully. Kenny laughed.

"Where's Bebe? Work?"

"Yep," Tweak replied, smiling ruefully. "Left to shake dat ass. Gone to make dudes make it rain. _Working the pole_, as it were."

"I'm going to drag you to the club one day." Kenny said, grinning mischievously.

"Jesus, man." Tweak blanched. "If I drown in my own nosebleed, who's gonna watch your back?"

"Don't be a pussy."

"Ngh, _WHATEVER, _man! What about you? Are you pulling a night shift?" Tweak asked, craning his neck around to watch Kenny's expression. Kenny looked troubled, reaching up to tug lightly on his long blonde hair. Tweak knew Kenny felt a certain level of responsibility toward his alter-ego that he could _never _understand, but Kenny was clearly exhausted, and an exhausted superhero was of no help to anyone. Even Batman took a break sometimes. Kenny sighed, shaking his head.

"No," he said softly. "It's an off night."

Tweak was relieved, but he tried not to show it. "Cool beans, man. I know you only got a couple hours of sleep," he said, glancing back at his computer, "and Bebe will be gone all night, so you have no excuse not to get some rest -"

Tweak felt Kenny shift suddenly. When he turned his head to look at his friend, Kenny _kissed _him, hard.


	6. 4

**4.**

"I wasn't going to stick my dick in anything. I was actually planning on letting _you _top _me_, dude."

**~ Kenny McCormick. **

* * *

Tweak had no idea what was happening. A moment later, he still didn't know.

Kenny's kiss was firm but undemanding, and his lips had a warm, _plush _feel. Tweak had only been kissed a handful of times in his life - none of them recently - and _never _like this. The unfamiliarity of it sent an anxious shiver down the spastic blonde's spine, but he couldn't help thinking (with a flutter of heat coiling in his belly) that it felt pretty damn good, too. Kenny kissed with purposeless purpose, slow and thorough, as if he was trying to commit the shape and sensation of his partner's trembling mouth to memory. Tweak froze under the sweet onslaught, his normally hyperactive thought processes coming to a screeching halt. His heart seemed to stop, before speeding up to a wild gallop that made him feel lightheaded. Tweak's vivid green eyes were glued open with shock, but Kenny had closed his, and the _intimacy _of that made his confused brain flare with explainable panic.

_W-what the hell?!_

Tweak slapped his hands down on Kenny's shoulders and used the leverage that provided to tear himself away. He bumped carelessly into the laptop that he'd perched delicately on the arm of Bebe's couch and sent it crashing to the floor with a dull _thud_! Normally this would have been enough to send Tweak into hysterics because, aside from the framed picture of his parents, his computer was probably his most precious possession. It was a custom monster that he'd built himself, but right now the shiny black laptop was the furthest thing from Tweak's mind. Thankfully, Bebe's floors were carpeted, so the device simply snapped shut when it hit the ground, undamaged.

Kenny shifted obligingly, but even so, there wasn't nearly enough space between them for Tweak's liking. McCormick was still pressed more or less to his side, watching him with faintly amused dark blue eyes, eyes that put even sapphires to shame with their brilliance. Tweak had never noticed just how stupidly handsome Kenny was, and why _should _he? He had never looked at his friend like that before, but he was looking now, with a combination of awe and jealousy. Some guys really did have all the luck, man. Kenny's face was dusted with freckles, like the lightest sprinkling of cinnamon powder. Those freckles were so faint they were basically unnoticeable...unless you happened to be especially close. Like Tweak was now.

Seriously, why was Kenny still so close to him?!

"The fuck are you doing, man?!" Tweak hissed. He briefly considered adding_ Get the hell away from me, I'm your friend and this is NOT COOL! _but he just couldn't seem to muster up the outrage.

It was a new and deeply uncomfortable experience for him. Tweak had _never _lacked for outrage. His opinions were a little out there sometimes, but his mother had taught him at an early age that if he didn't stand for _something _he'd fall for _anything_, and Tweak had taken that particular philosophy to heart. As far as he was concerned, there were too many uninformed, uninvolved, complacent sheep in the world. So _what _he got a little crazy? Tweak was passionate about his ideals! How could he _not _be outraged by society's bullshit standards, subpar Hollywood remakes, the price of a cup of coffee, the sexism in the music industry, the fact that the government was _most definitely_ pumping nanomachines into the tap water...the list went on and on (and got weirder and weirder). He'd never understood how some people could go about their daily lives completely unaffected by this stuff.

So why wasn't he outraged now? Why wasn't he pissed off that Kenny had kissed him out of the blue like this? Anger struck Tweak as being the safest, most _appropriate _response to the situation, but truthfully, he wasn't angry at all. He was _bewildered_, and the feeling had shaken him down to his core. Tweak didn't like it one bit, and he liked the ball of heat condensing in his stomach even less, because there was no reason why it should be there...not for _Kenny_, of all people.

"Jesus, man, are you so fucking _horny _you'll go after anyone?!" Tweak demanded, narrowing his eyes at Kenny. "Ngh, if this is your idea of a fucking joke, I'm NOT laughing!"

"Calm down, Tweak." Kenny replied softly. "It was just a kiss, nothing to get upset over. See?"

Kenny gently lifted one of Tweak's hands and kissed his knuckles, as if he was a fair and dainty lady. It was so ridiculous Tweak might have laughed, if it hadn't been for Kenny's utterly serious expression. Once again Tweak's brain flared with panic, the kind that left you paralyzed and helpless. Kenny turned his hand over and kissed his palm, which was smooth and shiny with old scar tissue. He nipped at Tweak's long, graceful fingers, but Tweak snatched his hand away before Kenny could do something gross (ngh, right, _gross_, totally gross, not a turn-on _at all_) like suck one of them into the moist cavern of his mouth.

"I _know _what the fuck a kiss is, _rgh_, that doesn't answer my fucking question!" Tweak snapped, his voice high and jittery, "Why the fuck did you kiss me in the _first _place?! WHY, man?!"

Kenny uttered a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. "Because you needed a kiss," he replied, as if that explained everything. Who knows, maybe to him it did, but Tweak was more confused than ever.

"_W-what_?" Tweak squeaked, his left eye twitching.

Kenny exhaled and slowly shook his head. "Look," he said, his voice low and soothing, "something you said has been bothering me. I was going to let it go, but I can't."

"Oh _Jesus_." Tweak muttered, glancing away. "The hell did I say? Please tell me, man, so I can avoid this stupid bullshit in the future."

"You said nobody would ever want you." Kenny pointedly replied, ignoring Tweak's irate tone. The spastic blonde flinched a little, shuddering all over, before whirling around to give Kenny a cold, hard stare, his brows furrowed over his dark green eyes.

"So. Fucking. _What_?" Tweak said, breaking off each word like sections of the most hostile candy bar ever. "Nghh! You're _really _gonna bring this up? It's _true_, man! Case closed! There's nothing else left to discuss!"

"No, it isn't." Kenny replied simply. "That's just an excuse, dude."

Tweak laughed wildly. "Oh, well _excuse me_. I must have just imagined all those looks of revulsion growing up, then. Gnahahahaa! You know what man? You should _really _just stick to looking pretty, because smart isn't working out for you."

Kenny's expression contorted with annoyance, but before Tweak could savor the fact that he'd finally gotten under the jerk's skin, he was flipped on his back. Tweak blinked rapidly, startled by the sudden change in orientation. Kenny was looming above him, pinning him him to the couch with his hands wrapped around Tweak's wrists and his knees on either side of his skinny legs. Kenny's grip was light and loose, and Tweak realized that that was probably on purpose. His partner wasn't trying to hold him down, he was just trying to get him to _listen_, and Tweak could have broken free at any time. As upset as he was right now, Tweak couldn't help feeling absurdly grateful that Kenny had _remembered_. After the fire that had destroyed Tweek Bros. Coffeehouse forever, even the _slightest _feeling of being trapped with no obvious means of escape was enough to make Tweak burst into uncontrollable tears.

Kenny still looked extremely annoyed, though. So much for getting off easy.

"Tweak, will you cut your woe-is-me bullshit already?" Kenny snarled, glaring down at the twitchy blonde, "It's a fucking excuse and you _know _it! Have you looked at yourself in a mirror lately?"

Tweak snorted derisively. "_Nnghhh_! If you tell me I'm cute or some _ridiculous _shit like that, I _swear to God_, man! I will knee you in the fucking _dick_!"

"You're cute, dude." Kenny replied flatly, without hesitation. He raised a brow expectantly, waiting for Tweak to make good on his threats, but Tweak just bit his lip and looked sullenly off to one side. Bluff called and checked. Tweak had forgotten just how much of a challenging asshole Kenny could be.

"Listen to me, dude," Kenny said, reverting back to his earlier soothing tone, "You think nobody would ever want you, but that's just fucking stupid, okay? It's a lie you tell yourself so you don't have to deal with the fact that what you _really _think -"

"Oh yeah man, _do _enlighten me!" Tweak cut in harshly, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"- what you really think," Kenny continued, his voice deepening nearly to Mysterion-levels, "is that you don't _deserve_ someone who wants you."

Tweak stiffened.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Kenny asked, even though they both knew the answer to that question. "Tweak, for such a _smart _guy, you can be a real idiot sometimes. What happened to your parents wasn't your fault, dude."

Tweak began to tremble, his breathing becoming ragged. "Y-you don't know what you're talking about, man."

"I kinda do, Tweak." Kenny replied gently. He leaned forward, hovering over Tweak's face, his long, hay-colored hair draping over his shoulders like a fall of soft water. "It wasn't your fault. You don't have to keep doing this to yourself, dude. You can stop with all the self-loathing."

"_Fuck_ you, man!" Tweak exploded, surging up against his partner with his eyes flashing dangerously. "You're one to fucking talk! '_Stop with all the self-loathing_', REALLY?! You're a goddamn _hypocrite_, Kenny!"

Kenny narrowed his eyes. The dark blue depths of them suddenly became cold and stormy, like an ocean rocked by a typhoon. Tweak simply stared the unmasked superhero down, refusing to be intimidated. For a moment their gazes traded sparks and the air crackled with tension, before Kenny slowly exhaled, visibly relaxing.

"I'm _not _a hypocrite," Kenny said, his voice so low and growly he might as well have been playing his alter-ego, "because I deserve to be blamed for what I did. You don't. _That's _the difference."

Kenny's tone dared Tweak to argue with him. He didn't, only because he had no idea what to say. The spastic blonde seemed to melt into the couch, his expression awash in misery. Tweak honestly didn't know who he felt more sorry for, himself or Kenny. They were both so _broken_. Maybe that's why they'd become such good friends.

"Ken, I don't…" Tweak began weakly, but Kenny shushed him with another kiss.

Kenny moved slowly, _carefully_, and when Tweak didn't immediately flip out he slipped in a little deeper, nibbling on Tweak's bottom lip. Tweak tensed, but the outrage he'd expected to feel was still nowhere to be found, and for once Tweak didn't go looking for it. When Kenny expertly ran his tongue along Tweak's bottom lip, all resistance left him. Tweak uttered an embarrassingly needy whimper and kissed his friend back, shamelessly parting his lips to allow Kenny's probing tongue access. Kenny hummed approvingly, licking the roof of Tweak's mouth, as if his friend was a sweet delicacy. Tweak wrapped his arms around Kenny's neck, and Kenny released his wrists to cup his face and pull him closer. Deep down, Tweak realized he was only reacting this way because all the years of self-imposed isolation had left him _starved _for human contact. Tweak was a weird, paranoid, jittery counter-culturalist _nerd_, but he'd always been perfectly normal physically. Just another 24-year-old male with slightly above-average 24-year-old male urges. Considering all his other problems, the fact that he was normal in_ that one area _actually kind of sucked. Sheesh, man, why couldn't he just be asexual?! Then he could focus on his work without pesky things like his dick getting in the way.

Which, coincidentally, was currently_ getting in the way_. Ngggghhhh.

Determined to get a hold of himself, Tweak quickly untangled his arms from around Kenny's neck and gave his friend's chest a hard shove. Kenny detached himself with a surprised expression, watching as Tweak struggled back into a sitting position, feeling flushed and wobbly. Tweak didn't need a mirror to know that his face was all red, and he couldn't seem to stop his hands from shaking.

"S-stop it, man." Tweak said, trying to sound firm and succeeding only in sounding small and petulant, like a child who had been ripped away from something he'd been enjoying. _Gah, fuck everything, man! _"You got your kiss or whatever the fuck you were trying to do. You can fuck off, now."

"Jesus _Christ_, dude. Do I _really _have to spell this out for you?" Kenny said, raking a hand back through his long blonde hair in exasperation. "_Look_, we're both tired, wound-up and irritable. We could both use a little comfort right now. And _you_ -" Kenny jabbed an accusatory finger at Tweak, " - have desperately needed some stress-relief for a _long _fucking time. So why not help each other out?"

Tweak stared at his friend. His mouth was slack, his eyes were wide, his shoulders were twitching and his mind was scrambling to process what Kenny was suggesting. "W-WHAT?! A-are you _seriously _-"

Before Tweak could finish that sentence Kenny climbed into his lap, lean and graceful as a panther. One hand went straight for Tweak's groin, cupping him through his jeans, and the other threaded in his wild platinum-blonde hair. Kenny didn't kiss him this time, but considering where his hands were, that was hardly a consolation. Tweak groaned as Kenny leaned in super-close, his dark blue eyes smoky and half-lidded, nuzzling his face while Tweak shivered and tried to remember how to get his brain to work.

"Let me do something nice for you." Kenny murmured, giving Tweak a squeeze that wrenched another needy whimper from his throat. His voice was low and playful, _seductive_. Tweak couldn't believe this was happening to him. The pressure was closing in all around, only he couldn't decide whether or not he wanted to escape it.

"Haghn...oh, _Jesus_." Tweak hissed, as Kenny began suckling the side of his neck. "Kenny. _Kenneth_. N-no way, man! If you want to do something nice for me, buy me a pound of coffee! Start listening to NPR o-or...nghh -" Kenny suckled a little harder, " - read _The Jungle_ by Upton Sinclair! _Any _of those things would make me happy, man! I don't...ngh, we _can't_…"

_Stop trying to deny it, _a cold, mean voice whispered somewhere deep inside. _You know you want this. So what if it's your best friend? If not Kenny, then who? Who else has the patience to put up with your issues, let alone TOUCH you, you freak?_

Tweak shivered. He _hated _that voice. It was the voice of self-doubt and shitty feelings.

"C'mon, dude," Kenny said, his warm breath puffing over the moist spot he'd made on the side of Tweak's neck, "don't tell me you only like girls…"

"Hng, I only like girls!" Tweak lied, in the vain hopes that Kenny would buy it. "I'm totally, one-hundred percent _straight_, man! I'm all about the vaginas! SERIOUSLY, man!"

"Pft, yeah right. You're a horrible liar, Tweak." Kenny chuckled, and his voice suddenly changed, becoming higher and full of nervous energy. It took Tweak a second to realize that Kenny was doing a _spot-on_ impression of him, "Ngh, I roll with whatever. Free love, man!"

Tweak scowled. "You know, when a friend wants to do something _nice _for a friend, they bake them a goddamn _cake_, man! They don't go trying to stick their _DICK _in them!"

Kenny chuckled again. "I wasn't going to stick my dick in anything. I was actually planning on letting _you _top _me_, dude."

Tweak flinched as if he'd been slapped.

"It'll be easier that way," Kenny continued thoughtfully, oblivious to Tweak's extreme shock, "the first time can hurt like a _bitch_, but if you top we won't have to worry about all that. So, how 'bout it? Aren't you getting tired of being the 24-year old virgin?"

Tweak was speechless, and his heart was pounding so fast he thought it was going to leap out of his thorax, like the chestburster from _Alien_. Kenny studied his anxious, bug-eyed expression for a second or two, before he laughed softly and kissed Tweak's cheek, running his hands up and down the soft black material of his hoodie.

"Did I fry your brain, dude?" Kenny asked, grinning, "Earth to Tweak…"

"There's nothing wrong with being a virgin," Tweak snapped faintly, his overwrought mind latching onto the only thing that he'd been able to safely take away from Kenny's spiel. The rest of that stuff was simply too much for him to handle.

"No," Kenny agreed amiably, "if that's what you want. But that isn't really what you want, is it?"

"GAAH! I don't need your goddamn_ pity-fuck_!" Tweak shouted, tired, confused and at his wits' end, every nerve seconds away from going haywire.

"If I pitied you, I wouldn't fuck you, dude." Kenny replied levelly. "I want to do this because I _like _you. Fucking _spaz_."

"We can't we can't we can't we can't we _can't_!" Tweak cried, yanking at his hair, even as part of him was wondering why he was so against this. It wasn't as if the thought didn't intrigue him a little, because it did. "OH GOD, me on top of you..._inside_ of you...JESUS CHRIST, it would be too weird, man!"

"It won't," Kenny said, his voice full of quiet confidence. He reached forward to take Tweak's shaking hands in his own, applying gentle pressure. "Dude, _relax_! We're both adults. Buddies for life, remember? You're my Robin, I'm your Batman."

"Gah, I never agreed to that!" Tweak hissed, on the verge of hysterics. "Robin _sucks_, I told you man! I'm fucking _Oracle_!"

"Oracle, then." Kenny allowed, smiling, but when Tweak shivered again he added softly, "Tweak. We'll both get off, we'll both feel better and _nothing _will change. It won't be weird, I promise."

"IT WILL!" Tweak practically shrieked, rocking back and forth, completely freaked out, "It'll be _so weird, _man! GAH, I CAN'T TAKE THIS! You're my friend, you should _understand_! I _don't _deserve this! I _don't_! I DON'T DESERVE ANYONE! NGH, my parents fucking died because of _me_!"

"Tweak -" Kenny began, alarmed, but it was as if someone had knocked a hole in a poorly-built dam, and all the headwaters were exploding outward. Tweak couldn't stop himself if he tried, and _God_, how he'd tried.

"_RAH_! SHUT UP, JUST STOP TALKING MAN!" Tweak snarled, whirling furiously on Kenny. _Jesus, I have to stop. Please stop. I haven't had a panic attack in EIGHT MONTHS, that's a record for me! Please calm down, please, please, please. Not _now_. _

He couldn't.

When Tweak was younger, maybe 9 or 10 years old, he was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. He never found out how bad it was, but it must have been pretty bad, because his doctor put him on medication for it.

It was supposed to help level him out, but the meds, coupled with his natural hyperactivity, only made things worse. His muscle spasms increased, his ticks became nigh-impossible to control and he would blurt things out randomly, always the craziest shit - whenever the meds hadn't left him so anxious and drowsy he couldn't function, that is. It got so bad Tweak's mother eventually took him off the medication, and made a show of flushing the pills down the toilet after Richard insisted they "just needed a little more time to work". Tweak had always been his mother's baby, but he'd never loved her as much as he did right then, watching those stupid green capsules go right down the crapper.

Mrs. Tweek was a peace-sign flashing, tree-hugging flower child in her day, and she'd strongly believed in the power of alternative medicine. _She _was the one who got Tweak started with all the deep-breathing exercises, meditation and positive visualization techniques. Tweak knew he'd never completely be free of his anxiety, but with his mother's help he'd learned to _cope _with it. She helped him more than those stupid pills and that stupid fucking doctor ever did. Tweak missed both of his parents, but sometimes, in the darkest moments of his depression, he wished he could have at least saved his Mom.

Despite everything his mother had taught him, though, there were times when he just couldn't get it together, when his panic attacks were so _awful _he felt like he was floating above his own body like a balloon on a tattered string, watching himself disintegrate into an anxious wreck. _Depersonalization_. Tweak had read about it, once.

Kenny had gone very still, watching Tweak with wide, concerned dark blue eyes. Tweak just couldn't stop.

"You don't give a shit about me, _nobody _gives a shit about me! I'm a FREAK and we _both _fucking know it, so you can shove your false fucking sympathy up your goddamn ass, man! Don't pretend like you care!" Tweak inhaled shakily, his lungs burning.

Kenny hissed sharply, shaking his head. "Fucking hell, Tweak. I _do _care! How can you -"

"If you want to _fuck _someone, go fuck _Bebe _or _Wendy_ or...or WHOEVER, man! That's all you really want, isn't it?!"

"_No_! Jesus Christ, dude! I -"

"All that stuff about comfort and stress-relief was all just bullshit, wasn't it? _Wasn't _it?!"

"Tweak, _listen _to me -!"

"Arg, no YOU listen! Don't act like you don't _pity _me, _ngh_…" A sob caught in Tweak's throat, then another. "Don't act like you don't think I'm just another fucked-up charity case! Jesus! If you want me to leave, I'll LEAVE, man!"

"What the hell are you _talking _about?" Kenny demanded, staring at Tweak as if he'd gone insane. It was the same look he'd been getting ever since he was a kid, and it _hurt_. Until now, Kenny had never looked at him like that. Tweak couldn't blame him, though. Not even _he _knew what he was babbling about anymore.

"Tweak. All that shit you just said right now? It's _not _true, dude. Not even a little!" Kenny said, sounding understandably angry. "Look, I...this isn't what I wanted. I just thought it'd be fun. I _never _meant to upset you like this, so just forget it, dude. _Okay_?"

Tweak was shaking and his eyes were burning, and suddenly the weight of his panicked, irrational tirade hit him like a ton of bricks. He curled up into a ball and began to cry, each sob setting his raw throat muscles on fire._ I did it again. I completely lost it. So stupid…_

"Dude…" Tweak heard Kenny drop down beside him. He could almost imagine the expression of pain and worry on his friend's face, but he refused to look up from the bend of his arm. _Just let me cry. Please, Ken. _

"Tweak. I'm _sorry_. I'm so sorry," he heard Kenny said, his normally playful voice full of regret. "I wasn't trying to...ah, shit. I'm _so _fucking sorry. I never should have brought it up. I wasn't trying to force you...and I shouldn't have tried to convince you."

_It's not your fault, man. In your own pervy way, I know you were just trying to help me feel better. It's not like I wasn't interested. For fuck's sake, I let you stick your tongue down my throat, didn't I?! I liked it, I just...couldn't handle the anxiety. Big fucking surprise._

"Please dude, don't be mad at me."

_I'm not mad, man. It's not your fault I'm so fucked up I can't even handle a simple proposition without having a panic attack and then crying about it. *You're* the adult here, man, not me. _

"I promise, I'll never mention it again, dude."

_Oh, Jesus. I just ruined my one and only chance to get laid. Oh well, man. I wouldn't have been able to handle it, even if I'd had the balls to say yes. I want love but I don't think I'm worthy of it. I want someone to touch me, but I'm paranoid about my scars. And yeah, maybe I'm a little worried, too. Sometimes I really don't know how you put up with me. If we did this and things changed between us, it would be MY fault, not yours. All because I was selfish, man._

Tweak swallowed and tried to speak. No words would come. It was pathetically typical, and made him want to cry even harder.

Kenny sighed, ran his hands through his hair, and climbed slowly to his feet. "I...I mean it, Tweak. What happened to your parents wasn't your fault."

_Maybe, maybe not. They're still dead, though. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, man. You of all people should know this. For the record, what happened to Karen wasn't your fault, either, but I know you'll never accept it._

Kenny sighed again. Tweak finally raised his head, his face streaked with tears. He wanted to say something, wanted to assure Kenny that he was alright, that _they'd _be alright, but Tweak was terrified of what would happen if he opened his mouth again, so he just stayed silent. Tweak watched apathetically as Kenny smiled at him, his eyes sad, before he disappeared upstairs. He thought perhaps Kenny might have gone to lay down and breathed a shaky sigh of relief, but a moment later Kenny was tromping back down the stairs. His friend had changed out of his work clothes and was wearing his orange parka, car keys in his hand. Tweak sat up a little, alarmed, as Kenny shot him another sad smile and headed for the door.

"H-hey...where are you going?" Tweak squeaked, his tongue finally becoming unglued.

"Out," Kenny answered ambiguously, raising a brow at him, one hand already on the doorknob. "I'll be back."

"B-but…" Tweak swallowed again, his chin wobbling, "It's snowing outside...I thought you said you were tired…"

"I won't be gone long," Kenny replied, but somehow Tweak knew that was a lie. Kenny opened the door, flipping the fur-lined hood of his parka up over his head as he did so. "Eat something, dude, and keep an eye on Buttercup for me. Okay?"

Tweak bit his lip and nodded, but Kenny was already gone, closing the door firmly behind him. The silence he left was _deafening_. Tweak sucked in a lungful of air and got off the couch to - to do what, exactly? He realized he had no idea. Tweak was lost, and couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just run his friend off with his craziness.

He spotted his laptop lying on the floor and bent to pick it up. Tweak cradled the device to his chest and sank into the couch cushions, but when he flipped it open he couldn't seem to remember what he'd been doing. A plain white webpage stared up at him and he stared right back, his expression blank and his green eyes dull. Tweak felt angry and forlorn, disgusted with himself, but mostly he just felt _lonely. _Somehow, that was the worst feeling of them all.

"Fuck me," Tweak whispered, hiccuping, before he lay down and pulled his knees up to his chest.

* * *

Skeeter's Bar and Cocktails was a dirty, redneck juke-joint where the roaches were plentiful and the rats were almost as big as the waitresses, but Kenny liked it because the drinks were cheap and Skeeter asked no questions.

Kenny toyed with a shot of tequila, moodily studying the clear liquor. Then he picked up the glass and tossed the contents down his throat, ignoring the bartender's curious look. It tasted like _shit_ and burned cold-hot, igniting a fire in the pit of his stomach. Kenny grimaced, wishing he had a wedge of lime to chase it down, but according to Skeeter "only girls and faggots" needed chasers for their drinks. It didn't matter. Soon enough, he wouldn't care about the taste.

Kenny sighed and ordered another, a grim expression on his face. Alcohol had never really been Kenny's thing, not like it was with Stuart and Kevin. They could drink entire _bottles _of tequila like they were jugs of water, but Kenny had never liked the feeling of being drunk. As far as he was concerned, when it came to mindless, destructive escapism, drugs were the way to go. Getting high was faster than drinking, and the effects were often immediate and euphoric. Kenny had mostly kicked his drug habit years ago - more as a form of punishment than from any real desire to quit - but he really could have used a needle-full of heroin right now, which had always been his drug of choice.

Kenny ran his hands up and down his toned arms, feeling wistful. The skin there was smooth and unblemished now, but he could see all his old tracks in his mind's eye, like dear friends. At first, Kenny had gotten high to escape the trauma of his deaths, but after a while he got high simply because he _liked _it. Nothing numbed his pain and helped him forget like the drugs. When he was using he was almost _happy_. It was an escape more pleasurable than even sex.

Kenny continued to run his hands up and down his arms, before he stopped himself with a frown. _No. I'm not doing that shit, _he told himself sternly, picking up his second shot of tequila. _Not now. _Maybe later, after he'd settled his current situation, he could take off for a few days...but not _now. _There was too much at stake, too many people who depended on him. Kenny snorted, ordering another shot. The irony of his situation wasn't lost on him. He had dedicated his life to helping people, to _saving _people, and he couldn't even fucking save himself.

Unconsciously, Kenny rubbed his arms again.

God, he hoped Tweak was okay. Kenny smiled ruefully, shaking his head. If he'd known the guy was going to react so badly, he never would have propositioned him. Damn, and it had seemed like such a good idea at the time, too.

Admittedly, he'd fantasized about having sex with Tweak for _years_. Tweak would have been _horrified _to learn how many times Kenny had thought about fucking him, but Tweak was so much more attractive than he'd ever given himself credit for. Kenny sipped his fourth shot of tequila contemplatively, a melancholy smile playing around his lips. Tweak had tasted like coffee and nutmeg, like the weed he was always smoking because he claimed it helped his nerves, like something faintly peppery and undeniably _Tweak Tweek_.

His friends had always laughed and called him an addict, but Kenny didn't exactly see it that way. He was all about sex - the taste, the sounds, the smell, how it felt, hard or soft, fast or slow, day or night..._seriously_, sex was _amazing_, sex was _exciting, _he could jerk off all day and never be completely satisfied, he loved making people _moan, _he loved it when someone made _him _moan, made him _scream _even, and it was ridiculously easy to turn him on - but c'mon, that didn't make him an _addict_!

Well, okay. So maybe it did.

Addict or no, Kenny actually liked making people feel good. He liked it even better when he could make his _friends _feel good, and Tweak desperately needed some pleasure in his life. All he'd really wanted was to show Tweak that _yes_, he deserved pleasure, and _no_, he wasn't a freak.

Kenny sighed. Considering how badly Tweak had freaked out, he had failed royally in that endeavor. _Maybe it's for the best…_

After all, who was he to tell Tweak he shouldn't blame himself for what happened to his parents? Wasn't he still blaming himself for Karen? For _everything_?

/'_Stop with all the self-loathing_', REALLY?! You're a goddamn _hypocrite_, Kenny!/

_Yeah,_ Kenny thought, rubbing his arms._ Maybe I am a hypocrite, but facts are facts. Karen was hurt because of ME. Her world was changed forever, and it's all MY fault. _

Once again, Kenny felt a rush of crippling disgust, a feeling that would _never _go away, no matter what he did.

Kenny ordered another shot. For once, he wanted to get blind, stinking drunk. It wasn't the high he was used to, but it was the next best thing, and right now he would take what he could get. As the alcohol finally began hitting his system, turning everything soft and fuzzy around the edges, Kenny pulled out his phone and played with dialing Karen's number, never quite mustering up the courage.

* * *

"Red. Are you sure about this?" Craig demanded, frowning up at the plain, four-story brick building that was the current headquarters of the South Park Gazette. It had begun to snow again, and _hard_, but Craig paid no attention to the cold or the snowflakes melting in his straight jet-black hair. Red shifted beside him, planting her hands on her slender hips, her beautiful features twisted in an expression of annoyance.

"How many times are you going to ask me that, _honey_?" Red asked, with a nasty edge in her otherwise sweet tone.

"As many times as I feel is necessary," Craig deadpanned, completely unfazed by Red's irritation. "I need to be sure you know what you're doing. This plan of yours seems awfully...excessive."

"Hmph," Red rolled her eyes, flicking a lock of her thick auburn hair over her shoulder. "Are you scared, or jealous because you didn't think of it first, sweetie?"

Craig didn't bother dignifying that idiotic remark with a response.

"Look, I _know _what I'm doing..." Red said, sidling up to Craig with a coy smile. She ran a hand clad in a fingerless glove lightly down Craig's arm, feeling the muscles under the smooth material of his dark suit.

"So _tense_!" Red chided, laughing softly. "Maybe after all this is over, you and I could go have a drink. What do you say, sexy?"

Craig ignored her, snatching his arm away. He began walking calmly up to the building, removing his Desert Eagle from a side holster as he did so. Red watched him go with another coy smile, and then turned to gesture to the two big vans parked behind her. Immediately, a dozen nondescript men carrying sub-machine guns poured out. They were dressed in black gear, and completely indistinguishable save for the logo of Doctor Mephesto's Genetic Engineering Ranch sewn on their arm guards.

"Alright, boys. You know what to do." Red said in a bored tone, following casually after Craig with her hips swaying.

Mephesto's hired muscle fell into a tactical formation behind her.

And, inside the building, Cartman, Wendy and Gary prepped for the evening broadcast, completely oblivious to the danger rapidly closing in.

* * *

_/What's your name?/_

_/What?/_

_/U-um, I said, what's your name?/_

_/...Fuck off./_

_/Aww, gee, don't be like that! We might be here for a while, ya know! M-my name's Leopold. You can call me Butters!/_

_/...Whatever.../_

_/So? A-are ya gonna tell me your name?/_

_/Names are for conformists. You can call me whatever you want, I really don't give a fuck./_

_/O-oh.../_

_/ Are you here to help me?/_

_/W-well, I'm gonna try my gosh-darned best! I jus' bet I can help ya!/_

_/Don't make promises you can't keep./_

_/I-I.../ _

_/Whatever./_

_/U-um, I can get started now, if you.../_

_/Fine. Hey./_

_/Y-yeah?/_

_**/Will you tell me if I'm going to die?/**_

_**/Aww, gee! You're not gonna die, fella. I promise./**_

Butters swam up out a sleep so deep it was like being buried alive. He wasn't sure if he'd dreamed or not, but all his dreams had become nightmares anyway, so Butters was _glad _he couldn't remember. His senses returned to him slowly, and when he finally opened his eyes, Butters found himself gazing up at the ceiling of a small room in an unfamiliar house.

The room was dark. That darkness frightened him a little, but when Butters turned his head to look around, he realized he had nothing to be scared of. He was lying on an actual _bed _for the first time in over a year. The blankets draped over him were warm and soft, sensations Butters never thought he'd feel again. A fat orange tabby was perched on his chest, purring happily, and Butters lifted a trembling hand to pet the animal with tears of gratitude gathering in his expressive aquamarine eyes. He was safe and _alive_. Butters had no idea what the future would hold, but this was already more than he'd dared to hope for in a very, _very _long time.

Tears slipped down his cheeks, hot and fast. Butters made no attempt to hold them back. He sobbed to himself in that quiet, comfortable room for God knows how long, tears of grief, tears of regret, tears of pain, but mostly just tears of pure happiness._ Wherever you are, Kyle...thank you. _When he was done, Butters felt like himself again, only stronger than he'd ever been.

With a final sniffle, Butters sat up, dislodging the purring cat with a faint yowl of displeasure.

_Where I am I? _His head felt incredibly fuzzy, but Butters suspected that that was because he'd been asleep for a while. Butters kicked off the blankets and climbed out of bed, surprised to find that someone had removed his filthy jeans and torn flannel shirt and dressed him in a matching set of pajamas at least two sizes too big for him. The pajamas were lime-green, and stamped all over with the grinning (snarling?) faces of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Butters chuckled a little, and then headed over to the window, feeling stiff but refreshed. He pulled back the decorative curtains and peeked cautiously outside, blinking in amazement at the winter wonderland he found. It was awfully dark...exactly how long had he been asleep?

Butters thought hard, trying to remember how he'd gotten here._ Gee, I was rescued by a superhero! _Suddenly it all came rushing back to him - the dirty alley, Mysterion, Tweak, the shootout in the abandoned theater, Craig, their high-speed chase, the agony as his tracking device was finally removed, and Mysterion's handsome, unmasked face smiling down at him just before he slipped into unconsciousness. _Mysterion said we were all headed to Bebe's house...this must be her place, _Butters thought, looking around some more. _Am I alone? _

Only one way to find out.

Butters found his jeans crumpled up in a corner, and put them back on so he wouldn't have to worry about the oversized pajama bottoms falling around his ankles. He found his shirt as well, but it was stiff with dried blood and reeked of sweat, so Butters left it on the floor and rolled the long sleeves of the pajama top up to his elbows. The orange tabby was rubbing its head against Butters's legs, purring loudly. Butters scooped the animal up with a smile, cradling the big cat gently in his arms.

"R-ready, kitty?" Butters whispered, nudging the bedroom door open with a bare foot. Someone had left it slightly ajar. The feline just looked at him, its big yellow eyes glowing faintly in the gloom.

Butters eased out into the hallway and crept along until he reached the living room. He hesitated at the entrance, fidgeting nervously. From where he stood, he could see the tall, skinny young man who'd introduced himself as _Tweak _curled up on a couch. The TV was on and his gaze was fixed on it, but Tweak's big green eyes were listless and unfocused. Butters didn't think he was watching anything at all, just staring blankly into space. He bit his lip, fighting against the urge to go slinking back to the bedroom. _No. No more being a coward, Butters. That part of you is over. _

Squaring his shoulders, Butters patiently waited for Tweak to notice him. When he didn't, Butters loudly cleared his throat.

"U-um...excuse me. Hello?"

Tweak jumped as if someone had lit a firecracker in the room, springing off the couch with surprising speed. Butters winced. The cat in his arms wriggled free and dropped gracefully to the floor, dashing across the living room with the bell on its collar chiming merrily. Tweak glanced sharply in his direction, all his previous listlessness gone, and froze when their eyes met, his mouth parting in a 'O' of surprise.

"Jesus. You're _awake_!" Tweak said, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

Butters blushed, knocking his knuckles together. "Y-yeah...um…" _I don't know what to say..._

"Holy shit..." Tweak breathed, shaking his head in disbelief. For a moment Tweak just stared at him, his green eyes wide, while Butters fidgeted miserably in place, at a complete loss for words. Then Tweak smiled. Somehow, that made Butters feel a lot more at ease. Tweak had one of those nice, beaming smiles that _really _brightened his whole face.

"_Jesus_, man!" Tweak said, with a sudden burst of cheerful laughter, "Welcome back to the land of the fucking living!"

Butters blushed again, but he couldn't help grinning at that. "Thanks. It feels ruh-real good to be back."

"I bet!" Tweak replied, grinning fiercely. "How do you feel, kiddo?"

"Aw..." Butters shyly shuffled his feet, shrugging. "I-I feel pretty good, I guess."

"Good!" Tweak rubbed his hands together, nodding emphatically. Butters wasn't the only one who didn't know what to say. "Ah...that's good, man!"

Butters smiled and slipped a little further into the living room. Tweak was watching him with avid interest, his eyes large and friendly and somehow familiar. The last time Butters had seen him, he'd been half-naked and wielding a 9mm like a pro. Now, Tweak was dressed in a black hoodie and a pair of old jeans, the wild strands of his platinum-blonde hair smoothed down by the couch cushions.

_Now I know why his eyes seemed so familiar,_ Butters mused as he drifted closer. Kyle Broflovski had pretty green eyes like that. Tweak's eyes were dark and mossy, though, like a forest at dusk, while Kyle's were luminous as emeralds. Both men had a look of kindness. Butters found it difficult - if not impossible - to trust people like he used to...but somehow he _knew _he could trust Tweak, just like he'd trusted Kyle once.

A full-length mirror sitting in a corner of the room quickly caught Butters's eye. Without really knowing why, Butters walked over and stared at himself for a long time, his gaze unflinching, trying to remember when he'd last owned a mirror, let alone seen his reflection. Gosh, it felt like _ages _ago.

_I look...older, _Butters thought, dazed. Though not by _much_, to be honest. His face would always possess a youthful boyishness, but Butters had definitely aged a bit. His features were sharper and his hair was a little longer and he'd even grown some, too. Butters reached out and ran his fingertips along the smooth surface of the glass, completely forgetting that Tweak was even there. _My eyes look different._ All of his cheerful naivety was gone, replaced by something that was wiser and sadder. In the lab, Butters had often felt as if time were standing still. Apparently not.

Butters swallowed. He wasn't sure how he felt, if he felt anything at all.

Meanwhile, Tweak was watching Butters closely, trying very hard not to freak out again.

_He's awake! Oh man, oh Jesus, what do I do?!_ Tweak had promised to keep an eye on the kid, but he hadn't actually expected Butters to come around while Kenny wasn't there. Damn it all, it was just his luck! Normally Tweak could have handled it - he didn't look it, but Tweak was surprisingly good at reassuring people, probably because he often needed to be reassured himself - but after this evening's epic meltdown Tweak was feeling exhausted and deeply unsure of himself. Butters was gazing at his reflection in Bebe's grandmother's antique mirror with a deeply contemplative expression. The kid looked as if he wasn't quite sure how to handle what he was seeing, and Tweak didn't know either. He was honestly having difficulty breathing right now.

Tweak was so busy fretting, he didn't notice that Butters had turned away from the mirror with a sigh. When he looked up, the kid was studying him with genuine concern in his lovely aquamarine eyes.

"U-um, are you okay?" Butters asked.

"Eh?" Tweak said, rather intelligently considering how fired his brain was.

"You jus'...well, you looked real worried there, is all," Butters clarified, nervously knocking his knuckles together. "Is everythin' alright?"

"Oh! Uhhh..." Tweak shrugged, impressed that Butters had been able to pick up on his emotional state so quickly, "Yeah, it's all good, kid! Don't mind me, man. I'm cool as a fucking cucumber!"

Butters giggled and smiled again. Tweak suddenly saw why Kenny had been so stupidly drawn to the boy that he'd taken him back to their _former _secret base, against all common sense. Butters had been awfully cute before, even while frightened and hurt, but now that his bruises were gone (_Whoa, his bruises are gone! _Tweak realized, amazed) the kid was downright _pretty_. He had a shy, sweet demeanor and spoke with a soft Southern drawl that was occasionally broken up by a slight stutter. Tweak was no expert on Southern accents, so he had no idea where Butters might have acquired his, but it was adorable. Just like the rest of him, really. Butters's large aquamarine eyes really _were _amazing, framed by long eyelashes, just like a girl. _Jeez, Ken. Your Buttercup is awake, and you aren't even here to appreciate it! _

It was a good thing Butters was eighteen, Tweak decided. He didn't think Kenny would ever hit on someone underage - at least he _hoped _not - but he had a feeling this kid would have sorely tested him. _Not that Kenny should be hitting on Butters at all, eighteen or no eighteen._

"How long have I been asleep?" Butters asked.

Tweak checked his watch. "Hmm...sixteen hours, give or take?"

"Sixteen hours?!" Butter squeaked. "Aw hamburgers, _really_?!"

"Yep," Tweak replied, smiling a little. "Hey, at least you're well-rested, man!"

"Yeah…" Butters said, looking vaguely unhappy. "I jus'...well, I didn't think I'd be out for so long, is all."

Tweak cocked his head. "Are you all healed up, kiddo?"

"Uh-huh." Butters nodded, biting his lip self-consciously. "Um...'m all healed." He mumbled.

_How? _Tweaked wanted to ask._ How are you able to do that? Who ARE you? _Butters looked so terribly uncomfortable Tweak knew the subject wasn't a pleasant one for him. The sadness in his eyes was unmistakable. _Okay...change of topic, then._

"So!" Tweak said, bounding off the couch. "Are you hungry, kiddo?" Butters brightened instantly, with an enthusiastic nod.

"_Really_ hungry," he admitted, shuffling his feet. "I could p-probably eat a horse right now."

"I heard the grocery store down on Main is having a two-for-one special on horse meat," Tweak replied, grinning. When Butters just stared at him, wide-eyed and silent, he added, "Err, that was a _joke_, kid. We got KFC! Okay?"

Butters nodded again, looking relieved. Tweak hadn't touched the bucket that Kenny had brought in - he hadn't exactly been hungry after his panic attack - and the chicken had long since gone cold. Tweak warmed up the entire bucket and fixed Butters a heaping plate. Realizing that he could probably do with a little food himself, Tweak grabbed a drumstick and joined Butters at Bebe's kitchen table, munching contentedly. Butters hesitated for a second before digging in, his first few bites so slow and careful Tweak wondered if was something wrong.

"Errr...you okay, kiddo?" Tweak asked, on his second drumstick. Butters hadn't even bitten into his chicken yet.

Butters glanced up, blushing. "Oh, um...yeah. I was kept on a pretty strict diet in the lab. No fats or sugars o-or nothin' like that. I jus' wanna make sure this doesn't make me sick, is all. It's _so _good, an' I don't wanna throw it all up after."

_Lab?_ Tweak thought, frowning darkly. _Jesus, kid. _

Butters took a few more slow bites. Apparently satisfied that he wasn't going to vomit, Butters set down his fork and tore into his food like he hadn't eaten all year. Tweak watched him for a while, oddly relaxed. _I think...everything might be okay. Green lights, man. Crisis averted. _

"S-so," Butters said all of a sudden, wiping his mouth, "U-um, where's Mysterion?"

_I was wondering when you were going to ask, kid. _Tweak grinned. Judging from Butters's slight blush, he'd been working up the courage. _Should I tell him Kenny's name?_ Nah...Kenny probably wanted to do that himself. Complete with pick-up lines.

"Myst is...arg, he stepped out for a bit." Tweak said, running a hand back through his hair. He inadvertently smoothed the wild locks down even more. "He should be back pretty soon." _I hope. _

"O-oh. Okay," Butters said, glancing away from Tweak's knowing smile. He hadn't expected to feel disappointed, but he was. _Well, he did kind of save my life and all...Tweak too. _

Butters peeked up at Tweak, blushing harder. "Tweak? Um...I jus' wanted to say…" Butters gulped, and rushed along, "_Thank_ _you_. Thank you so much for doin' what you did for me, you an' Mysterion."

Tweak blinked, taken aback. "Ngh, hey, no problem kid! It's what we do, y'know?"

"I know," Butters whispered, "But still. If it hadn't b-been for you fellas, I'd probably be back in _that _place. So thank you. From the bottom of my heart."

"Aww, man...you're gonna make me fucking cry over here! _Fuck_. Ngh, you're welcome, kid." Tweak said, chuckling. "Say, when Myst comes in, thank him in person, okay? He'll really like that."

Butters fidgeted. "Ah...o-okay. I will."

_Cute, _Tweak thought, shaking his head, watching as Butters finished the rest of his dinner. _Jeez…_

Kenny was going to lose his shit over this kid, Tweak just _knew _it. Great. That was the absolute _last _thing they needed, Butters included.

"Wanna watch some TV?" Tweak asked when they were both finished, picking up the remote.

"Cartoons!" Butters said cheerfully, joining Tweak on the couch. With rest and a full belly, Butters was happier than he'd been in _forever_. Part of him knew he couldn't stay. He'd have to get out of this town for his own good and the safety of everyone around him...but he didn't want to think about that right now. Butters just wanted to watch some damn cartoons.

"Cartoons it is," Tweak said, laughing as he flipped through the channels. Bebe only had basic cable, and right now every channel appeared to be showing the same thing. Tweak frowned.

"No cartoons?" Butters inquired.

"Ngh, it's some kind of special broadcast," Tweak said, turning up the volume. "On every damn channel? The hell's going on?"

Tweak put down the remote, and together he and Butters watched the broadcast. After a few minutes, Butters forgot that he'd been _happy_ just a moment ago.

"Oh no," Butters whispered, terrified.

"Jesus Christ," Tweak muttered, unable to tear his eyes away, a horrified expression on his face. "Fuck. This is bad. This is really, _REALLY _bad."

* * *

Sometimes, when Wendy was feeling particularly upset, she got the urge to call up her ex-fiance, Stan Marsh.

It was only natural, she supposed. They'd been together since they were _children_, friends first and then lovers, toughing it out through thick and thin. Stan had been her rock, her island of consolation for so long that running to him was almost a muscle-memory. Wendy still kept a picture of Stan in her desk drawer, and sometimes she'd pull it out when no one was around, stare at Stan's smiling face and remember the good old days. But that's just it, that's _all _they were. _Old _days.

Wendy sighed, leaning back in her chair. She hadn't wanted to acknowledge it back then, but what was the point in lying to herself now? She and Stan had been growing apart _for years, _barely seeing each other, barely interacting. It was painful to think of now, painful and terribly obvious, but she supposed neither of them had wanted to be the one to let go first. It was so hard to give up something you were used to, Wendy had discovered, even if that something was bad for you. When she caught Stan cheating, with another _man_, no less, Wendy hadn't even been angry. Oh, sure, she was hurt, they both were. But it was the kind of hurt you feel after losing a good friend, not a fiance. Like it or not, her relationship with Stan had run its course, and when they parted ways - Stan moving out, giving her a final kiss on the cheek - Wendy's tears had mostly been tears of relief. Her mother had raised bloody hell, but Wendy knew their marriage would have been a _disaster_.

They'd been separated for almost a year now, but Wendy still missed him, still _loved _him. How could she not? It was _Stan_. In his way, he'd been her best friend and always would. If she called him up now, Wendy knew he would listen to her gladly, maybe offer to take her out for coffee or have lunch. But that was just her muscle-memory playing tricks with her. Wendy was trying to learn how to be her own best friend, but it was _hard_.

Sighing again, Wendy stowed away her picture of Stan and stood up. In fifteen minutes, she would have to get in front of a camera and do the evening broadcast with Gary and a certain _insufferable _fat-ass. Procrastinating for some unknown reason, Wendy walked over to the corkboard she had mounted on one wall of her tiny office. It was filled with all sorts of newspaper clippings and articles that Wendy had written herself, but one in particular caught her eye, the big report she'd done a couple of months ago.

The headline seemed to scream at her: WHO IS MYSTERION?

Who, indeed. Wendy frowned, feeling an odd mix of embarrassment and pleasure. When Mr. Garrison slapped the assignment down on her desk, at first she'd been livid. Wendy had gotten into this field to do _serious journalism_, not to write up buzzy articles on some _wacko _who may or may not have even been real. But Mysterion was big news, and Mr. Garrison had given her little choice. Wendy had done the report grudgingly, never realizing that Mysterion was indeed very real, and that a chance encounter with him would lead to an _extremely _steamy affair. Wendy blushed, the memory of their last tryst coming back to her. Oh God, if anyone ever found out, she'd be _ruined_! The public embarrassment would no doubt wreck her career and outright kill her mother...so why the hell did she keep _doing _it?

Well...it was simple, really. She did it because it was _exciting_, and Wendy craved excitement more than anything.

All her life she'd been a good girl. Wendy was a model daughter and an excellent student, and had always done everything that was expected of her. Her passion and ambition had carried her through school on valedictorian wings. Wendy had always known exactly what she wanted to do and who she wanted to be, and had achieved her success with the grace and ease with which she'd achieved _everything_. Once she got it, however, Wendy realized that something vitally important was missing in her life. Imagine. Only twenty-three years old, and already having a _midlife crisis_.

_Maybe I should call Stan...it wouldn't hurt. _

Biting her lip, Wendy turned away from her corkboard - and froze. Her office had a big window with a good view of the hall, which was perhaps the only nice thing about it. Wendy could see men moving through the halls of the South Park Gazette through the cracks in the slightly drawn blinds.

Men with _guns_.

Before she could process this, before she could even become _scared, _the door to her office was suddenly kicked open, and the tallest, _handsomest _man she'd ever seen walked in. He had straight, jet-black that reminded her instantly of Stan, and blue eyes like Stan's too. The similarities ended there. This man, whoever he was, had eyes that were pale and cool, gorgeous in their iciness. His face was expressionless, but somehow that only _added _to his looks, made him seem almost untouchable. He was wearing a dark blue suit that was so well-tailored it was almost as if he'd been poured into it. The mystery man regarded Wendy blankly, and she was so shocked at first she didn't notice the Desert Eagle in his hands, pointed_ right at her._ When she did, Wendy's mouth went dry and her heart began to pound, so fast she felt faint.

"Who...who are you?" Wendy whispered, trembling. "Please...please don't kill me."

"I won't." The man replied, in a deep, even monotone. "So long as you do exactly as I say. Hands up and come with me. _Now_."

Wendy went.

She found herself in the newsroom, which had been taken over by dozens of armed men. Gary, Cartman, Mr. Garrison and several cameramen were all there, looking equally pale and terrified. Wendy met Cartman's gaze, for once without hostility. Cartman's expression was strange, a combination of fear, anger and disbelief. His brown eyes were big in his chubby face. Cartman's eyes were probably the only nice thing about him.

"Everyone accounted for?" A woman with red hair asked. She was _very _beautiful, slim and athletic, but there was something about her coy smile that Wendy loathed instantly.

"Who the fuck are you people?" Mr. Garrison muttered, his voice shaky. "_Terrorists_? You can do better than this, don't you think?"

"Shut up, _baldy_!" The red-haired woman snapped, shoving a piece of paper in Gary Harrison's hands. "Congratulations, boy scout! Today's your lucky day. You're doing the broadcast of a lifetime."

"I...I don't understand," Gary replied, cringing away from the woman.

"I want you to get on air," the red-haired woman purred, "and announce to the whole town that if Mysterion doesn't get his ass down here and _give us what we want_, we're going to kill the hostages. And guess what, bad boy…"

The woman laughed, flipping a lock of her coppery hair over one shoulder. "_You're_ the hostages."

Cartman groaned suddenly, shaking his head. "Mother _FUCKER_!"

* * *

There was an uproar in Skeeter's Bar. Everyone was staring at the old TV that had been mounted above the hooch, talking loudly. The broadcast that had just been aired was as bizarre as it was frightening. No doubt, everyone in town had been watching, and if not, they would soon hear about it.

Everyone but one person, it seemed.

Kenny McCormick was slumped over the countertop, dead to the world. He was surrounded by shot glasses and suffering from alcohol poisoning.

* * *

**~ author's Note:**

It's done.

IT'S DONE. OH MY GOD, CAN YOU SEE MY TEARS OF JOY?

Jeebus. I _really _struggled with this chapter. It was supposed to be a lot more humorous, but the scene between Tweak and Kenny took on a life of its own and every scene after that became vastly different from what I'd originally planned. On the whole, I'm happy with the way it turned out, but GOOD LORD. This chapter was a _pain_ in the backside…

Umm...not much to say about this. I know I promised a lot of action in this update, but it'll be in the next update, I swear! What did you guys think of Tweak and Kenny's scene? ;) I just realized that Butters and Kenny have yet to have much time together, but no worries, they will _very _soon! Romance has always been my favorite thing to write, but I've always enjoyed slow-moving romances the best! So, I hope you'll stick with me as these characters tackle their issues and eventually fall in love! ;)

Also! I wanted to thank the guest reviewer (Reviewers? Are there more than one of you?) who suggested Creek. When I first started this story Craig's part was going to be much smaller and a lot more generic, but he's quickly taken on a much bigger role in the story, and Tweak right along with him. I still can't promise anything, but your suggestion was appreciated. This is a work in progress, and nothing is ever set completely in stone. ;)

And a BIG thank you to everyone who has reviewed thus far! There were so many times while I was writing this that I wanted to throw my hands up and go, "Fuck it, I'm going to work on something else…" but your comments and PMs helped me to push through my block. Please, keep 'em coming! I hope this chapter didn't disappoint.

~tbc.


	7. 5

**5.**

"No more games, no more of your _stupid _fucking heroics. I will make you regret wasting my time."

**~ Craig Tucker. **

* * *

The South Park PD had the Gazette surrounded within minutes.

Dozens upon dozens of police cruisers lined the street in both directions, their flashing sirens painting the snow in shades of red and blue. Police Chief Token had set up a barricade with a TV monitor of all things, and was watching it with a grim expression on his face. The terrorists - if that's indeed what they were, even now nobody seemed to know - simply kept the cameras rolling after their initial threatening broadcast. There was no message being played now, but the image of the hostages on their knees, with two masked and machine-gun wielding men standing directly behind them, was all the message they needed.

Token didn't know if these maniacs would actually make good on their threats and he really didn't want to find out. He couldn't get the image of Gary Harrison's pale, terrified face as he was forced to read the note the hijackers had passed him out of his mind. Gary Harrison was a born news anchor - his voice hadn't wavered once, even with his obvious distress - but any eagle-eyed person could have seen how badly his hands were shaking, and Token was eagle-eyed indeed. The Police Chief clenched his fists so hard his nails bit bleeding crescents into his palms, trembling with rage. These were the people he'd sworn to protect. It was the oath he'd taken when he'd been promoted to Chief of Police, and yet he'd never felt so helpless and confused. Just who were these assholes, and why did they want Mysterion so badly they'd taken over the Gazette just to lure him in?

Token glanced out into the night, his mouth set in a hard line. He'd never taken Mysterion seriously. As far as he was concerned, the so-called "superhero" was just a lunatic vigilante who had taken it upon himself to do a job that the men and women of the South Park Police Department did every day, and do it _badly_. Sure, Mysterion had saved a few people, Token grimly allowed him that much, but his off-the-record brand of justice had no place here, not in _his _town.

Token had promised himself that one day he would find out who Mysterion really was, and when that day happened, no amount of good deeds would be able to save him from the padded_ prison cell_ where he belonged. The Police Chief glanced back at the TV monitor, grimacing. Token had never taken Mysterion seriously, but apparently there was someone out there who did, and they meant business. If Mysterion really was the superhero he claimed to be, he had to show up. He _had _to. Or else they'd all be watching live executions, and Token didn't think he could handle it.

"Sir, what the hell are we waiting for?! Why can't we just storm the building?"

Token sighed, and turned to face Stan Marsh, standing tense as a drawn bowstring behind the barricade of police vehicles. The air was already thick with apprehension and uncertainty, but nowhere was that feeling thicker than with Stan Marsh. His cornflower blue eyes were narrowed, his face was pale and his breaths were ragged puffs of pale white smoke in the icy air. Clyde Donovan stood beside him, considerably calmer but no less worried, his hazel eyes concerned under the brim of the crisp navy police cap he was wearing.

"We've been given the order to stand back, Officer Marsh." Token replied stiffly, glancing up at the building. Stan inhaled sharply, shaking with disbelief.

"Stand back? By _who_? That doesn't make any fucking sense!"

"By the mayor," Token deadpanned, "and no, it doesn't. But it doesn't matter. The hijackers have already informed us that if we take so much as a step toward the building, they'll shoot the hostages in the head, and it'll be on live TV. They want Mysterion and Mysterion _only_."

Stan hissed, his face contorting with grief and rage. "Chief...we can't just fucking _stand _here! What if he doesn't show up?!"

Token sighed. "I don't know. We better pray he does."

Clyde cleared his throat nervously, gently laying a hand on Stan's shoulder. "I'm sure he'll show up, dude. I mean, I know he's a vigilante and all, but there's_ no way_ Mysterion would let people get killed on account of him. I mean, that would be _totally _un-superhero!"

"You don't fucking know that!" Stan snarled, wrenching himself out of Clyde's grasp. Clyde paled a little as Stan whirled on him, his eyes dark with fury. "My fucking _fiance _is in there!"

The words were out before he knew it. Stan paused, surprised at himself. Wendy hadn't been his fiance in _months_. His feelings for her had faded slowly but surely, the passionate love he'd once felt eventually becoming a comforting kind of fondness. He supposed they both should have seen the writing on the wall. Toward the end they were practically strangers, and the preparations for their wedding - the grand wedding in Paris Wendy's parents had excitedly bankrolled - were disinterested at best. Breaking it off for good was the best decision they'd ever made as far as Stan was concerned, but he wasn't proud of the fact that Wendy had caught him fucking their wedding planner. Stan had never been particularly good at being sneaky, though.

Clyde was staring at him with wide eyes. "Whoa, dude! I didn't know you were _engaged_."

Stan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I meant to say that she's my _ex_-fiance," he muttered, "but I still care about her. I'll _always _care about her."

"Dude," Clyde replied, looking amazed, "you don't mean Wendy Testaburger, do you?" Stan nodded glumly. _Whoa_, Clyde thought, hoping his shock wouldn't show up on his face. Hearing that Stan had once been engaged was surprising enough, but hearing that he'd once been engaged to _Wendy_ was mind-boggling. Wendy was gorgeous, and even though Clyde had only seen her TV, he definitely thought she was much too good for the likes of Stan Marsh. But besides all that, Clyde had always gotten the impression that Stan preferred to bat for his own team. Whether he did or didn't was none of his business, Clyde wasn't judging, but it had always made for juicy gossip around the station.

"She's in danger," Stan continued, his voice low, "while we're standing around doing _nothing_!"

"I understand, Marsh." Token said, his own voice harsh. Token sounded angry, but Clyde was willing to bet that the Chief of Police was directing that anger mostly at himself. Token's jaw was tightly clenched, and his dark eyes were hard and bitter.

"I want to end this as much as you do." Token snapped. "Do you really think I like standing here feeling useless? I don't. Our hands are _tied_, Marsh. Until the situation shifts in our favor, all we can do is _wait_."

Stan let out a shuddering breath, glancing forlornly up at the building. Rushing in with guns blazing was probably the _worst _thing they could do considering the circumstances, but Stan looked as if he wanted to take that building down with his bare hands. Clyde couldn't really blame him. If someone he loved had been inside, he would have wanted to do the same thing. Clyde bit his lip and stared off down the blockaded street._ C'mon Tweak, and Mysterion whoever-the-fuck you are, I know you guys are out there! We've got some major shit on our hands, dudes!_

Clyde had left Tweak out of his report on Mysterion. He still doesn't know why he did, only that at the time, it had seemed like the right thing to do. His childhood friend was obviously working with the vigilante superhero for reasons Clyde couldn't even begin to imagine, and Token would have wanted to know about it...but Clyde just _couldn't _give Tweak up. Even though they'd lost contact, Clyde never stopped considering the guy his friend. He just hoped his little omission wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass. After all, from what he'd seen the night Mysterion had knocked him out, Tweak was _radically _different from the weak little spazoid he'd been in high school.

_I hope you know how to use those nines you were packing, Tweak. _

Clyde shuddered and turned back to the monitor, trying to ignore the nasty feeling of dread in his gut. He sincerely hoped this wasn't one of those situations where things got worse before they got better.

* * *

Red looked out the window and giggled, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"Would you look at that," she said to no one in particular, her brown eyes gleaming with amusement, "they're like a bunch of helpless little _ants _down there! Gosh, I suppose the doctor really does have Mayor McDaniels in his pocket, hmm?"

"Red." Craig said, a single word spoken in a low, warning tone.

"I didn't say any names!" Red pouted, turning away from the window. "_Gosh_! If you don't learn to relax, you'll end up in an early grave, sweetie."

Craig didn't even bother to scowl. The tall, dark-haired man was on high alert, his pale blue eyes trained on the entrance to the newsroom, as if he was expecting a SWAT team to come bursting in at any moment. Red honestly didn't know why he was so nervous - her plan had gone off without a hitch, if she did say so herself.

Ugh, _men_.

Red yawned and walked back to the newsdesk, her thigh-high heeled boots clicking softly. She sank down with a blissful sigh, propped her feet up, and picked up the Vogue magazine she'd found there. The hostages they'd taken were lined up on their knees before the desk, like ducks in a row. Gary Harrison looked like he was about to _piss _himself. Red hoped he _would_, just so she could have something to laugh at. Wendy knelt beside him looking equally terrified, but she was holding it together with admirable courage. Mr. Garrison was a..._difficult_ man to read. Red honestly couldn't tell if he was bored or frightened, but so far he'd held his tongue, and that was good enough for her.

Cartman, on the other hand, didn't seem particularly intimidated at all. In fact, the fat prick looked more _annoyed _than anything, his expression dark and scornful. It was almost as if he was looking _down _on her, even though he was the one on his knees with a gun to his head. Red glanced at him, smiling coyly. Cartman simply frowned, watching her with defiant, _intelligent _light brown eyes. _Looks like we got a tough one here_, Red thought, grinning. _How interesting._

"Hey sexy! Did you know leg warmers were back in style?" Red asked, flipping through the glossy pages of Vogue. Craig actually glared at her, which was a pretty good indication of just how much he was on edge. Normally, Craig would have ignored her outright, his devastatingly handsome face utterly expressionless.

"Have you considered the possibility that Mysterion may not show?" Craig demanded, his voice razory with irritation. "This is starting to feel like a dangerous fucking waste of time."

"He'll show up." Red replied, bored. "It's only been, like, fifteen minutes. God, I _hope _you aren't this impatient in bed."

"What if he doesn't?" Craig snapped, persistent as an attack dog with a death hold. Red rolled her eyes, slapped the magazine down and stood up.

"You are _really _fucking annoying." Red said, exasperated. "You better be damn glad you're so handsome."

Red swept her eyes over the hostages, considering. When her gaze landed on Wendy she smiled. The dark-haired woman went several shades paler, trembling.

"_You_," Red said, pointing a finger at Wendy and hooking it in a _come-hither_ gesture, "stand up. Come here."

Wendy uttered a small, hissing sound of fear and shook her head, her eyes pleading _No_. A hired gun behind her simply grabbed her arm and forced her to her feet, nudging Wendy roughly in the back with the butt of his firearm when she refused to move. Wendy took several halting steps in Red's direction, while Gary and Mr. Garrison watched mutely, sick to their stomachs. Cartman grit his teeth and made a move to rise, but he was quickly forced back on his knees.

"Are the cameras still rolling?" Red demanded, glancing at the two cameramen they'd taken hostage as well. When the men nodded fearfully, Red turned her attention to Wendy, looking her up and down with a cool smirk. Wendy couldn't seem to stop trembling, but she returned Red's gaze bravely enough, her head held high. Red laughed softly and began to slowly circle the woman, like a predator closing in on its prey.

"Miss Testaburger, isn't it?" Red asked, reaching out to run her fingers lightly through Wendy's soft, thick black hair. Wendy shuddered at her touch, pulling away with a sneer of disgust on her lovely face.

"That's _right_," Wendy tossed back, her voice quavering, but only a little. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Are you _proud _of yourself, holding innocent people hostage like this, you fucking _bitch_?"

Red laughed again, amused. "Gosh, you're a little _spitfire_, aren't you? How a-_dor_-able! Hmm, I bet you're a real _whirlwind _in the sack…"

Wendy colored, her expression darkening. She remained stubbornly silent as Red halted before her, crossing her arms with an unpleasant expression.

"You are _unfairly _fucking pretty." Red complained, _tsking_ softly. "How many guys do you think have whacked off thinking about you, love? You look like you were one of those stuck-up, perfect, _popular _girls in school. Tell me, did you ever have to go down on any of your professors? Or are you as smart as you are beautiful?"

Red leaned forward, smiling wickedly. Wendy's clenched her fists, shaking with barely suppressed outrage, her gaze filled with loathing. She wanted nothing more than to _claw _this woman's eyes out, to wipe that coy, _shit-eating _smile right off her face. Somehow Wendy knew - as surely as she knew her own name - that if she made a move against her, this woman, this _Red_, would kill her without hesitation. There was a cruelty about Red so intense it was almost tangible.

"My ass is tighter than yours," Red continued conversationally, "but that's only to be expected. I probably get a little more exercise than you. You have _much _better tits than I do, though. I'm jealous."

Without warning, Red stuck her hand down Wendy's silk blouse, squeezing her nipples. Wendy gasped in horror and disgust, and then wrenched away so violently she ripped a few buttons. Red threw back her head and laughed, while Wendy shook like a leaf caught in a fierce breeze, covering herself with an incredulous expression.

"What are you doing." Craig asked, his deep voice a monotone. Craig's pale, ice-blue eyes were steely and disapproving.

"Mysterion _likes _girls," Red answered flippantly, eying Wendy with her previous unpleasant expression, "He'll most _definitely _show up if we torture this bitch on live television! What do you say, sweetie? Should we force her to suck every dick in the room?"

Craig was silent, but some of the hired guns laughed at Red's suggestion. Wendy felt so sick she thought she was going to cry, but she suspected that was _exactly _what Red wanted, and she wasn't about to give this horrible bitch the satisfaction.

_Mysterion, I know all we ever had was a cheap, tawdry affair...but if you're watching, if you ever cared about me in the slightest, HELP us. _

"Fuck you," Wendy hissed, "you filthy fucking _whore_."

Red snorted. "Bold words! If I were you, I'd _rethink _them."

"No," Wendy replied, slowly straightening up, ignoring Gary's mortified look, "go to _hell_, cunt!"

Red paused, cocking her head. For a moment it looked as if Red were deep in thought, pondering the situation, before she sighed sadly and gestured to the nearest hired gun.

"Shoot her in those perky tits of hers," Red said, plopping back down behind the newsdesk, "and make sure you get it on _camera_. I don't want Mysterion to miss it."

_Oh, God. _Wendy's face went slack. The world seemed to blur and then slow to a crawl as a hired gun seized her from behind, his grip hard and unyielding. Wendy was dragged forward with the sound of her heart pounding in her ears (_ba-thump, ba-thump_), stumbling over her own feet like a child just learning how to walk. The tall, raven-haired man loitering in the background took a sudden step in her direction, his expression stony, and Wendy honestly couldn't tell if he meant to _help _her or _hurt _her _(ba-thump, ba-thump_).

Wendy could hear someone shouting desperately, but the sound was _muffled _somehow, as if someone had shoved wads of cotton in her ears (_ba-thump, ba-thump_). It took her a long moment to realize that those shouts were coming from Gary, endless cries of _"Stop it, don't hurt her, please!"_ but he was quickly silenced by a vicious cuff to the side of his face, followed by a brutal kick in the ribs. _No, not Gary, he's such a nice guy!_ Wendy twisted, struggling futilely, too petrified to scream. Her heart was a maddening drumbeat in her ears (_ba-thumpba-thumpba-thumpba-thump_) and her knees had gone weak.

Wendy thought she heard the raven-haired man issue a command in that deep, authoritative baritone of his, but nothing was making _sense _to her anymore, nothing quite registered. _Don't shoot me, please, don't shoot me_, was all she could seem to think.

"EYY!" Cartman suddenly snapped. Wendy had just enough time to see Cartman throw something at the startled Red. It hit the woman right between the eyes with a solid _smacking _sound, bounced off and fell on the newsdesk. The room went dead silent.

_Cartman's...shoe?_ Wendy thought, frozen in place._ Why the hell did Cartman throw his shoe?_

Red had gone pale, her eyes wide with disbelief. There was a perfect imprint of a size 10 men's loafer stamped on her lovely face, almost as red as her hair. Cartman glared at her, his expression undeniably _haughty_. Wendy couldn't believe it.

"Jesus _Christ_," Cartman said, rolling his eyes. "Would you shut your fucking mouth, you troll-faced, horse-banging, brain-dead _skidmark_? You aren't impressing anybody, okay? It's just fucking _sad_. We _get _it! Your Daddy _touched _you, and now you spend your days trying to prove you're some kind of badass, when in reality, you're nothing but a vapid, leathery piece of _crusty dog shit_. I'm _so _seriouslah, you wouldn't even make a decent cum-dumpster, and I bet that's your only notable skill. So calm your saggy-ass tits, you're _embarrassing_."

_Whoa_, Wendy thought, awed.

"Cartman, for fuck's sake." Mr. Garrison said, exhausted. "Did you really have to say what we were all thinking?"

Red slowly rose to her feet, her expression eerily calm. The thought of what she would do next made Wendy feel ill, but the raven-haired man suddenly took her by the arm - his touch surprisingly gentle - and led her away.

"Sit," the man said, his tone brooking no argument. Wendy practically crumpled in relief next to the bleeding Gary, but it was _Cartman _she was watching, with a concern she never thought she'd feel for the offensive fat ass._ Did he say all that just to distract her? No...Cartman would never do anything so selfless. _

"What did you say?" Red asked sweetly, her eyes drilling holes in Cartman's face. "I didn't quite catch all that. Do you want to repeat it?"

"Did I stuh-stuh-_stutter_, skank?" Cartman replied, in a bored tone.

"Red," the raven-haired man said, "don't -"

With a sneer of hatred, Red whipped a pistol out of God-knows-where, aimed it Cartman, and pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit Cartman in the stomach, rocking him back. Wendy screamed, Mr. Garrison cursed, Gary uttered something that might well have been a prayer and the raven-haired man strode purposefully toward the newsdesk, his long legs eating up the ground.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Craig asked, struggling, honestly _struggling_, not to lose his temper. "I thought we agreed not to kill anyone. Your bullshit is going to draw too much attention. Why are you so fucking stupid?"

Red rolled her eyes, a smile playing across her pouty lips. Behind her, Gary, Wendy and Mr. Garrison had all jumped up and were kneeling beside Cartman, groaning in a quickly spreading pool of his own blood.

"Good lord, it's just a gut-shot!" Red replied defensively, shrugging her shoulders. "A gut-shot isn't fatal. _Painful_, yes, but not fatal."

"Oh my God, _Eric_!" Wendy sobbed, tearing off her silk blouse with badly shaking hands. She pressed the smooth material to Cartman's tummy in a futile attempt to staunch the bleeding, but her blouse was soaked within seconds, and pretty soon her hands were, too. Cartman was gazing up at her with hazy light brown eyes, his expression twisted in a grimace of agony.

"Stupid bitch actually _shot _me," Cartman groaned, "Someone...kick her in the testicles for me…"

"Eric, _why_?" Wendy demanded, suddenly infuriated, but Cartman just gave her his old familiar condescending look. Somehow, that only made her cry harder.

"Christ," Cartman muttered, "Wendy...stop crying. We'll be...fucking _fine_."

Wendy bit her lip, shaking her head, her shoulders trembling with the effort of holding back her sobs. This was probably the first time they'd ever referred to each other by their first names. _Eric…_

"Don't try to talk, buddy-boy," Gary said softly. His bottom lip was busted and swollen. "Hey, for the record, I always respected you, Cartman."

Cartman groaned. "For...the record, I always hated you, you...Mormon _faggot_. If we...die, I hope you burn in...fucking hell. Ugh…"

"It's okay, trooper," Gary replied soothingly, "I know you don't mean that."

Mr. Garrison ripped off the Burberry cashmere scarf he'd tied around his neck at a jaunty angle, and pressed it to Cartman's stomach on top of Wendy's blouse.

"You owe me a new scarf, just so you know." Mr. Garrison said, a wry smile on his lips.

Cartman groaned again. "You guys...seriouslah…"

"He's bleeding out." Craig deadpanned, watching the scene, his pale blue eyes narrowed.

"Like I said, he'll be _fine_," Red replied, unmoved, "I'm sure the fat prick probably _wishes _he were dead right now, but it takes _days _to die from a gut-shot." Red re-holstered her pistol and plopped back down, casually picking up the discarded issue of Vogue, as if she hadn't just shot a man in cold blood.

"Ooh, did you know Jennifer Aniston was pregnant?" Red cooed suddenly, flipping through the magazine. Craig grit his teeth and turned away from her in disgust.

_Mysterion,_ Wendy thought, trying not to freak out over how much blood Cartman was losing, _please, hurry the fuck up._

* * *

Tweak tore through Kenny's duffel bag with a grim expression on his face, carelessly tossing out triple-X rated porn mags with sticky pages, tubes of lubricant, boxes of condoms, the odd book or two and his spare clothes. He dug around in his friend's things until he found what he was looking for: Kenny's Mysterion costume.

He spread out the cowl and cape with his stomach twisted into knots of anxiety, along with the black mask, the thick gloves, and lastly, the dark lavender bodysuit. Tweak shoved everything into a grocery bag while Butters watched with a miserable expression, his aquamarine eyes big and shiny in his boyish face. Butters couldn't seem to stop rubbing his knuckles together. Tweak guessed that it must be a nervous tick of his - boy, did he know all about _those _- but he didn't exactly have time to comfort the kid, even if he'd known what to say. Hell, Tweak really wished somehow would comfort _him _right now. Preferably Bebe. Preferably, wearing only a thong. Tweak sighed. Here he was rushing off on a suicide mission, and he'd never worked up the nerve to tell Bebe that he had the _biggest _fucking crush on her. Not that she would have responded favorably in any case. _Too busy trying to fuck Kenny into loving her. _

The thought was steeped in bitterness, but Tweak figured he could have a pass just this once.

"Umm, Mr. Tweek…" Butters began softly.

"Shh, kid." Tweak replied gently. He needed to concentrate, and he already had a pretty good idea of what Butters was going to say.

Swallowing hard, Tweak ripped open his own duffel bag and pulled out two boxes of spare ammunition. He tossed them into the grocery bag along with Kenny's costume, then checked his nines, cocking the pistols back with a sharp _chick-CHACK!_ sound. Tweak tucked both guns into the waistband of his jeans, pulled the hem of his black hoodie down, and reached for his jailbroken iPhone. He punched in Kenny's number and waited, but after a few rings his call went straight to voicemail.

_Yo, this is Kenny-motherfuckin'-McCormick. I'm busy right now, so leave a message, and if you're someone I actually WANT to talk to I'll get back to you later. Peace. _

"Jesus Christ, man!" Tweak shouted in frustration after the beep, "Where the fuck ARE you?! We have a _serious _fucking situation on our hands! NGH, if you're screwing around right now I swear to God, man, I _SWEAR TO GOD_ I will kick your fucking _ass _the next time I see you! _Arghhh_! When you get this message, call me back!"

Tweak hung up and washed his hands over his face, shuddering. What else could go wrong tonight, man, _what else_…?

Tweak felt a gentle touch on his sleeve. When he looked up, Butters was standing beside him, frowning.

"Wuh-uh, why ain't the cops doin' nothin?" Butters asked, with a familiar pout.

"I don't know, kiddo. Ngh, they just aren't." Tweak replied, tucked his phone into his pocket. He looked around, wondering if there was anything else he might need, but all that was left were Kenny's weapons and Tweak didn't know how to use those. Besides, Kenny when he returned - _if _he returned - would definitely need them.

"Okay kid," Tweak says, laying a hand on Butters's small shoulder, "ngh, here's the plan…" Tweak couldn't help pausing and snorting a little at that, because he didn't really have a _plan_, just a desperate fucking shot in the dark, "Look, I'm going to go down there, put on Mysterion's costume and turn myself in. I need you to -"

But Butters wasn't listening anymore. The boy flushed, his expression horrified.

"No!" Butters cried, yanking his sleeve, "Mr. Tweek, you _can't_! I tell ya, it's a _trap_!"

"GAH, I _know _it's a trap, kid! But -"

"Wuh-why ain't the police doin' _nothin'_?! A-and Mysterion, won't he need his costume?" Butters was dangerously close to tears, his voice high and panicky, "Where is he?! Where's _Mysterion_? Ain't he supposed to be a superhero? Ain't he -"

"Fucking hell, kid, I DON'T FUCKING _KNOW_!" Tweak shouted, exhausted, exasperated and angry, though not necessarily at Butters. "RAH, just shut the fuck up and LISTEN, this is important, alright?!"

Butters flinched, all the color draining from his face, before he flushed again, his chin wobbling with fury.

"Fuck _you_, you...you unfinished Muppet!" Butters shot back, giving Tweak a hard shove. "I never shoulda trusted you! I never shoulda trusted _any _of you!"

Butters made sudden a beeline for the guestroom. Tweak scrambled to stop him, jumping in front of the kid to block his way.

"_Move_!" Butters snarled, all his sweet Southern affectation gone, "You better jus' move, or I'll...I'll…"

"Please kid, I'm sorry!" Tweak insisted, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender, "Ngh, look at me! LOOK AT ME! I'm fucking scared too, man!"

Butters paused, giving Tweak a hard stare. The skinny man looked haggard, his platinum-blonde hair hanging down over his face in wispy strands, his dark green eyes like mossy wells surrounded by permanent dark smudges. Tweak had really beautiful hands, Butters thought, his fingers long and graceful, but they were shaking with obvious distress.

"You saw what happened, kid." Tweak said in a lower tone. "That chick just _shot _someone, and those people are probably going to do much worse if we don't DO something! _Ngh_, Myst could be on his way _right now_, but just in case he _isn't_, we need a backup plan! If Myst were in my shoes he'd do the same thing, okay? Do you really wanna run outta here knowing people might _die_, kid, do you?! You're pretty tough, but you just don't strike me as being heartless."

Butters bit his lip, glancing down. "I…"

"I gotta go, kid." Tweak said, struggling to control the spasms threatening to overtake his body, "Look, um, i-if something happens to me, Myst will know what to do. I need you to _stay here_ and give him this when he gets back."

"What's this?" Butters asked apathetically, as Tweak pressed something into his palm.

"No time to explain it, kid," Tweak replied, picking up the grocery bag that he'd stuffed with ammo and Kenny's costume, "just...GAH! Please just fucking _promise _me you'll give that to him, okay?"

"I promise," Butters said solemnly, closing his hand securely around the small device, "Um...I'm s-sorry I yelled too, Mr. Tweek."

"Jesus, this is a _tense _situation, don't worry about it," Tweak replied, sighing. "Ngh...do I _really _look like an unfinished Muppet, though?"

Butters blushed a little. "Wuh-uh, naw, you don't. I was jus' sayin' stuff, Mr. Tweek. You're real handsome, an' all."

_Oh_. The compliment was totally unexpected, and it made Tweak feel both grateful and uncomfortable. _Handsome? Geez, no way! Ugh, stop letting this stupid shit distract you and get on with it!_

"Look kid, it's just _Tweak_, okay? None of that _Mister _bullshit," Tweak replied grouchily, "I can't handle all that fucking formality man, it's _way _too much pressure!"

Butters smiled weakly. "'Kay...Tweak."

"Okay," Tweak said, taking a deep breath, "_Ngh_, the South Park Gazette is like, four blocks from here. Time to make my goddamn TV debut."

Tweak started for the door, but he turned around at the last second, anxiously scratching the back of his head. "Hey, uh, if you see Bebe..._ngh_, tell her I always thought she was really fucking beautiful."

Butters blinked. Tweak was gone before he could question it, slamming the door behind him.

_Alone again. Gee, it seems like I'm always being left alone,_ Butters thought, gazing blankly down at the thing Tweak had given him. Alone_..._

It would have been _ridiculously _easy to just grab his shirt, raid the house, and walk right out that door, right out of this fucking _town_, leave all the madness and the horrible memories behind. After all, these people weren't anything to him, not really. Butters was finally free and he had to start looking after himself now, he had no more excuses...but…

_/You're pretty tough, but you just don't strike me as being heartless./_

No, he wasn't heartless. Even after everything he'd been through, and all the bad shit that they'd done to him...Butters's heart was still as big as ever.

"Aw, geez." Butters muttered, turning nervously back to the TV.

* * *

Kenny was shorter and in much better shape than he was, so his costume bunched tight in some places and sagged horribly in others.

Tweak put on Kenny's mask with his stomach well and truly in knots, and tried to call his friend one more time, even though he really wasn't expecting anything. Just like before, the phone rang a few times and then went straight to voicemail, but Tweak simply hung up without bothering to leave a message. Hopefully, the silent aggravation behind all his missed calls would make Kenny feel like a real piece of shit when he got back from doing...whatever the fuck he was doing. Tweak honestly had no idea where Kenny was, but he _really _hoped his friend wasn't doing anything he might regret later. In his own way, Tweak knew Kenny was just as bad as he was when it came to dealing with stress. McCormick just hid it better. Behind his cheerful facade and casual promiscuity, there was a lot more going on than anyone had ever given Kenny credit for, stuff he didn't want anyone to _see, _much less know about. Tweak shuddered, pulling Mysterion's dark purple cowl over his platinum-blonde hair. If he survived this, he was _so _going to kick Kenny's irresponsible ass. Right now, he had bigger things to worry about.

"Mysterion...to the rescue," Tweak muttered to himself, trying to mimic the deep voice Kenny used whenever he was playing his alter-ago. "Ngh, fear not, it is I..._Mysterion_."

Tweak sounded nothing like Kenny and even _less _like Mysterion, but fuck it, fuck it _all_. He had _hostages _to rescue. If Kenny wanted authenticity, he should have been here himself.

With that thought in mind, Tweak slipped out of a pitch-black alley and made for the blockade of police cruisers. Seeing all those boys in blue made Tweak feel like throwing up (policemen were totally just tools of The Man, man), but he grit his teeth and keep going, raising his hands above his head so the police wouldn't shoot him on sight.

"Hey, pigs!" Tweak shouted, waving to the newest cops, "I'm here, okay? Ngh, take me to your fucking leader!"

"Jesus, it's him! It's Mysterion!" One cop said, lowering his gun in amazement.

"Well I'll be," another cop added, in a thick redneck drawl. "Stick a dick in my mouth and call me _Paris Hilton_, I didn't think this bastard would show!"

"Uh, yeah," Tweak replied in his mock-deep voice, slowly lowering his hands, "I'm here. Ngh, what's the sitch?"

_Sitch? _Kenny totally used that word, right? Right.

"It's about fucking time," the first cop said, narrowing his eyes at Tweak, "the Chief of Police has been waiting. Chief! Hey,_ Chief Token_, over here!"

Chief Token? Token watched as a sea of cops parted and a tall, handsome black man appeared, his expression cold. Behind him trailed another dark-haired blue-eyed cop and...Clyde. Tweak almost smiled at the sight of him, then remembered he was supposed to be _Mysterion _and scowled.

"You." Police Chief Token said coolly.

"Hey man, I'm here to -" Tweak began.

Token cranked back a fist and _punched _Tweak in the face before he could finish that sentence.

"OW OW _OW_! NGH, JESUS _CHRIST_!" Tweak cried, grasping his nose. Token had punched him so hard he was surprised he hadn't broken it. Tweak immediately felt a flash of rage through his discomfort and pain. Technically, that punch had been meant for _Kenny_.

Oh, oh he was _so _going to kick Kenny's ass later.

Token reached down and seized Tweak by the collar, dragging him close.

"That's for taking your sweet-ass time, you son of a _bitch_," Token growled, shaking him, "I ought to arrest you!"

"NGH, if you arrest me, who's gonna rescue the hostages?!" Tweak snapped, struggling in Token's powerful grasp, "It's ME they want, asshole! So let me get in there!"

"Chief, dude, he's right!" Clyde said, trying to pull Token away, "Dudes, we don't time for this shit! The clock's ticking!"

Token glowered, but he released Tweak obediently, reluctance written all over his face.

"If you're going to do something, I suggest you do it." Token said flatly. Tweak bit his lip anxiously.

"Look man, I know I haven't been on good terms with the police, but I'm asking for your help. NGH, I can't do this alone, it's WAY too much pressure!" Tweak said, his eyes full of pleading. "I'll go in first and distract them. I want you guys storm the building in five minutes and get everyone out of there!"

Clyde was staring at him strangely, but Token actually looked as if he was considering it. The dark-haired cop beside him frowned impatiently, gesturing up at the building.

"Chief, people's _lives _are at stake here! We can deal with the rest later!"

"For once, I totally agree, Marsh." Token said, before he turned to glare at Tweak. "Five minutes. Now go!"

"NGH, right!" Tweak said. He turned and ran for the building, a 9mm in hand.

"You heard him!" Token shouted to the assembled cops. "In five minutes, we're going in!"

_Mysterion...didn't he have blue eyes? Dark blue eyes? _Clyde thought, as his fellow police officers began scrambling. _He kind of sounds like…_

"Clyde, form up, NOW!" Token snarled.

Clyde rushed to do as he was told, putting everything else out of his mind.

Tweak burst through the double doors of the South Park Gazette's headquarters, feeling a little bit better about himself. If he could hold it together for five minutes, just _five _minutes, the police would take care of the rest. It was terrifying, but doable - or so Tweak thought - but no sooner had he set foot in the building than he had a gun to his head.

"Oh, geez…" Tweak groaned, eying the two masked and machine-gun wielding thugs who had obviously been assigned to watch the door. "Ngh, machine-guns are for assholes who don't know how to _aim_, y'know!"

"Shut up. Where's the boy?" One of the men barked.

"Hey, I'm not telling you phlebs anything!" Tweak snapped. "GAH, just take me to Craig Tucker before I put a bullet between your eyes and _piss _down the hole!"

Then men exchanged a look. Tweak waited, glaring. The thugs finally stepped forward, tearing the 9mm out of Tweak's hands. _Ah, damn it._

"Bring him."

Tweak was escorted to the newsroom. The fear in the air was so thick Tweak could almost taste it. The captive news anchors were all kneeling on the floor, next to their bleeding comrade. Tweak didn't know anyone's name - he rarely watched the local news - but he immediately recognized Wendy Testaburger, wearing only a skirt and a lacy black bra. Her lovely face was deathly pale, but she immediately brightened when she saw him, her eyes filling with gratitude and relief.

"Mysterion!" Wendy exclaimed, her shoulders sagging, "God...I was so worried." Then she smiled, her lips trembling. "I _knew _you'd come."

_Goddamn,_ Tweak thought, a little dazed,_ if putting on the Mysterion costume is all it takes to get beautiful women to look at me like that, maybe I ought to wear it more often. _

"There he is," a red-headed woman said, smiling coyly. "See? I told you this would work, sweetie."

Craig Tucker's gaze was heavy. He was definitely a lot more intimidating up close, with eyes that seemed to look right _through _a person. He possessed an aura that was somehow untouchable, as if nothing ever got to him.

Tweak disliked him _instantly_.

"Oh _Jesus_, it's like the circus came to town," an older-middle aged man with a balding head muttered darkly.

"Mysterion," Craig said, in a deep monotone, "_Where_ is Leopold?"

Tweak swallowed. _Time to stall. _

"Hidden," Tweak snapped, "so tough luck, you cyborg motherfucker! Ngh, I came to make a trade, okay?! Let the hostages go and you can have _me _instead! I'm the one you want, right?!"

"It's Leopold we want," Craig replied, without the slightest hint of emotion. "_You_ are just a ridiculous inconvenience."

"Why?" Tweak demanded, gritting his teeth. "Butters is just a fucking _kid_, man! Ngh, what the fuck do you people want with him?!"

"The brat is an _extremely _valuable experiment," the red-headed woman said in a bored tone, "and we work for an _extremely _wealthy client who would like to have him back. So please, just tell us where he is. He's _really _not worth all this trouble, hun."

"Go fuck yourself, okay?!" Tweak said, his left eye twitching. "Let the hostages go _first_, and THEN we'll talk!"

Red and Craig exchanged a glance. For a moment the atmosphere was filled with crackling tension as Tweak stared down Craig's impassive gaze. Craig's head tilt was so subtle Tweak barely caught it, but it filled him with alarm all the same.

_Ah, crap._

"Mysterion, behind you!" Wendy shouted, but it was already too late.

Tweak's legs were kicked out from under him, and he winced as he was wrestled roughly to his knees and then restrained by three or four hired guns.

"RAH, get off me, GET THE FUCK OFF ME!" Tweak hissed, struggling wildly, but he couldn't break free no matter how much he twisted. He froze as Craig Tucker slowly approached him, Desert Eagle in hand, his pale blue eyes so cold they gave him chills. Craig halted before him, gazing down at Tweak as if he was an insect that needed a good, hard heel. Tweak inhaled sharply, his nerves going haywire. As if being helpless and on his knees wasn't bad enough, Craig suddenly reached down and seized him by the throat, his fingers digging into the tender flesh of his neck.

"Nghhh…ghck..._ghhh_!" Tweak choked, his eyes watering.

"No more games," Craig said softly, his deep voice seeming to reverberate in Tweak's skull, "no more of your _stupid _fucking heroics. I will make you regret wasting my time."

Craig tightened his grip, cutting off Tweak's already limited supply of air. Dimly, he could hear Wendy shouting angrily in the background, but he couldn't make out a word she was saying over the pain in his neck and his screaming lungs._ I can't breathe...I can't...please…_

Craig eyes suddenly narrowed in suspicion and he released Tweak's neck. Tweak sagged, gasping painfully for air.

"Your eyes." Craig said, before all hell broke loose.

"Fuck!" Red snarled, drawing away from the window, "The fucking _cops _are breaching the building!"

"What." Craig frowned. "No."

"Just because you say it ain't so don't make it _true_, sweetie," Red snarled, a nasty smile on her face. "I suppose the rednecks got tired of waiting. There's no way we'll be able to hold here, not unless we want a bloody shootout on our hands. Knock out Mysterion and take him with us, we can torture the brat's location out of him later. Time to blow this taco joint, tiger."

"No!" Wendy cried. "Mysterion!"

_I'm not Mysterion,_ Tweak thought weakly, coughing. _Sorry Kenny, I tried…I did a horrible job, but I tried..._

That was Tweak's last coherent thought, before he was dealt a brutal blow to the temple. Tweak crumpled into a boneless heap, a thin trail of blood dribbling from his hairline.

"Pick him up," Craig ordered flatly. "You two, cover our escape. The rest of you, get to the van."

_No_, Wendy thought, with fresh tears in her eyes.

It only took a few minutes for the police to burst into the newsroom, but by then, Craig, Red, Mysterion and all their henchmen were gone. It didn't matter. Wendy felt like she was in a living nightmare. Policemen swarmed around her. Paramedics quickly followed, descending on the unconscious Cartman like flies. One of the medics kept screaming ARE YOU OKAY? Wendy realized it was probably because her hands were covered with Cartman's blood, but she couldn't seem to respond to the question. It was as if someone had glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth. Cartman was carried off on a stretcher, an oxygen mask to his face. Gary kept insisting he was fine, but the paramedics carried him off, too. Seeing Cartman getting wheeled away snapped Wendy out of her paralysis, and she started to chase after him, without really knowing why.

But then Stan was there, hugging her tightly, smoothing back her long dark hair.

"Wendy!" Stan whispered urgently, squeezing her, "Are you okay, baby?"

_No,_ Wendy thought, clinging to Stan as if her life depended on it, _no, I'm not okay._

* * *

Kenny woke up in a filthy alley with vomit on his shirt and the sunlight drilling a hole in his head.

He immediately rolled over and vomited again, choking on it, getting even more on piss-yellow bile on his parka, on his hands, and in his long hair. For a second he couldn't breathe, and Kenny felt a stab of annoyance, because it wasn't the first time he'd died choking on his own vomit and it wasn't exactly a _pleasant _experience. Thankfully, he was soon able to take a deep breath, his joints aching, his throat burning and his head feeling as if it were about to break apart. His vision swam, and it was so dizzying Kenny was soon retching again, vaguely wishing someone would just put him out of his fucking misery.

God...this was why he didn't like to drink. It was high-risk, low-reward, and left him feeling like absolute shit afterwards. Kenny sniffled and climbed wearily to his feet, every fiber of his being protesting against the movement. He looked around blearily and found himself gazing up at a dimmed neon sign that read Skeeter's Bar and Cocktails. Skeeter must have had him tossed out at some point, to either sober up or freeze to death at his discretion.

_That Skeeter_, Kenny mused, forcing himself to walk, _what a class-act_.

His even-shittier-these-days Prius was right where he'd left it, smashed bumper, plastic up to the broken window and all. Kenny climbed in with a muffled groan and slowly drove to the nearest 7-Eleven. The clerk barely acknowledged him as he paid for a pack of gum, six bottles of strawberry Gatorade, and a big jug of water. Kenny guessed he wasn't the first person to come dragging in at 6am, reeking of booze, caked with vomit and looking like absolute shit.

"Top of the morning to you." Kenny muttered as she dumped his change on the counter. The woman, in her late forties and severely overweight, simply grunted in response.

Kenny trudged back to his car, opened up the jug of water and dumped half of it over his head, before swallowing down the other half. Then he gulped down three bottles of Gatorade, struggling not to retch it all up again. He climbed back behind the driver's seat feeling almost as bad as he had before he got out, if not a little worse. Kenny was halfway back to Bebe's house before he had to pull over again, his stomach roiling.

"Fuck...me," Kenny hissed as he retched out the door, his vomit a disgusting pink color, "Fuck me right in the ass."

Kenny's head hurt so badly he thought he was going to black out again. His joints felt _inflamed_, and Kenny realized (with a small snort of amusement) that the worst hangover of his life was probably also the aftereffects of mild to moderate alcohol poisoning. Fuck, he was so sure Skeeter had stopped cutting his drinks with gasoline after the Health Department busted him that one time.

_Or maybe you're just a guy who's never known when enough is enough_, a voice muttered somewhere deep inside. _You pathetic man-child. _

"Fuck you, I do what I want." Kenny groaned, closing the car door.

Kenny reached into his glove compartment and rooted around until he found an old plastic baggie. Inside was a half-gram of cocaine, maybe less. He couldn't even remember who had given it to him, but it had been sitting in his glove compartment for _months_, one of those things that he'd see and go, "Shit, I should throw that away," before completely forgetting about it time and time again. Kenny had tried coke once or twice, ages ago, before he was Mysterion. He hadn't really liked the hyperactive feeling it gave him. When Kenny got high he did it because he wanted to mellow out, not to feel as if he could run the Boston Marathon in twenty minutes. Still, it was just the thing he needed right now.

Kenny snorted up on the back of a Guns N' Roses CD and waited. It wasn't long before he was feeling alert, his aching joints forgotten, his head clearing. Kenny knew it was only a temporary fix, and in an hour he'd be _completely _fucked up, but hey, he was alert enough now to face Tweak and possibly Bebe. Then he could shower, eat something, and sleep for the next twelve hours. _I'll be right as rain, yep. _

Kenny checked his reflection in the rearview mirror, smoothed back his hair, popped a stick of gum and drove the rest of the way to Bebe's place.

He didn't see Bebe's car in her driveway. _Good_. Kenny strolled up the walkway, hoping Tweak wouldn't be in a bad mood, and unlocked the door. He stepped inside Bebe's house with a sigh, tucked his keys into his pocket, and took a step toward the living room.

"Tweak?" Kenny called, "I'm back. Hey, if you changed your mind, I'm totally still down to fuck -"

Someone suddenly bowled into him.

"Fuck!" Kenny cried, startled, as he was nearly thrown right off his feet.

A blonde-haired kid had just crashed into him, and not just any blonde-haired kid, but _Butters_. Kenny gazed down at him, astonished. Somehow, he'd completely forgotten about the boy. _Holy shit, he's awake_. Kenny was utterly unprepared for this, to say the least. The bruises that had marred Butters's fair skin were gone, and he didn't appear to be in any pain, so Kenny could only assume that he'd healed himself. His eyes were as _gorgeous _as ever - even more so now that they were alert and undistracted - and Kenny couldn't help but notice how fucking _adorable _Butters was, with something not unlike arousal.

Kenny was so busy staring, it took him a moment to realize that Butters was shaking him, all while yelling furiously.

"Where were ya? Where the fuck _were _ya?!" Butters shouted, shaking him harder, his voice tinged with raw panic, "I thought you were supposed to be a _superhero_! Why did you let this happen?!"

_What?_ Kenny tried to detach himself from Butters's grasp, but the kid held on with all the ferocity of a pit bull, his eyes hurling daggers.

"Please...stop...shaking me." Kenny said dryly. Butters ignoring him.

"Tweak is probably hurt real bad because of you!"

_Tweak?_ Kenny frowned, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't you know?! Don't you even fuckin' _care_?!" Butters cried, tearing himself away from Kenny, as if he found touching him repulsive. Butters fumbled in his pocket and hurled a small device at him. It hit Kenny square in the chest and fell harmlessly to the floor, but Kenny felt as if Butters had just thrown a brick at him.

_Oh, no. No, no, no. _

"What happened?" Kenny demanded, his voice rising. "What did he do?"

The look Butters gave him was filled with rage and disappointment. "I thought...I thought you were so cool," Butters whispered, "but you're not a superhero. You're jus' a fuckin' _fraud_!"

Kenny crossed the room and grabbed Butters by the arm before he could stop himself, trembling. The boy just glared at him, completely unafraid.

"What. _Happened_?" Kenny asked again, every word low and infuriated.

The door banged open behind them and Bebe flew in, looking absolutely terrified.

"Kenny?!" Bebe cried, stopping short, her pale green eyes wide. "You're...here? But I thought...I thought you'd been captured…"

Kenny closed his eyes and let dread wash over him. "No," he muttered, "tell me what happened. Someone. _Please_."

* * *

**~ author's Note:**

Gosh, so much happened in this chapter! Cartman was shot, Tweak was captured, and Kenny made a stunningly bad impression on Butters. Oh well. ;) Some of the best love stories have started off on the wrong foot!

Thank you for all the reviews and PMs. I appreciate each and every one of them so very much! And I can't sign off without giving a special thanks to all you persistent Creek requestors out there. ;) Creek was a pairing I started off disliking, to be honest! I was all NOPE I DON'T GET IT, I DON'T LIKE THE WAY IT'S WRITTEN, NUH-UH, but your loving suggestions opened me up to the possibilities. And oh, what possibilities they are! I can now say with 100% confidence that this story will be Bunny and Creek.

Uh, that being said, I wouldn't expect Craig and Tweek's romance to get off on a good start, either. ;)

By the way, a reviewer mentioned Kyman! Sorry, no Kyman. It sucks, because I _love_ Kyman, but I honestly don't think I write Cartman very well. There are so many truly wonderful Kyman stories out there, I could never do the pairing justice. Kyle and Cartman will have some moments together, though! As will every other character, so there will be plenty of hidden hook-ups and pairings along with way. ;)

The next part will be a character-interaction heavy interlude. I'm looking forward to it! Again, your reviews are welcome, your comments/PMs/suggestions are welcome. Thanks!

~tbc.


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